u 


STORIES   BY  AMERICAN   AUTHORS, 
VOLUME  i 


*„.*  The  Stories  in  this  Volume  are  protected  by 
copyright,  and  are  printed  here  by  authority  of  the 
authors  or  their  representatives. 


Stories  by 

American  Authors 


VOLUME   I 


WHO  WAS  SHE 


BY  BAYARD  TAYLOR 


THE  DOCUMENTS  IN  THE  CASE 

BY  BRANDER  MATTHEWS  AND  H.  C.  BUNNER 


ONE  OF  THE  THIRTY  PIECES 

BY  WILLIAM  HENRY  BISHOP 


BALACCHI  BROTHERS 

BY  REBECCA  HARDING  DAVIS 


AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY 

BY  ALBERT  WEBSTER 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
1900 


COPYRIGHT,  1884,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


SfacR 


WHO   WAS  SHE? 

BY  BAYARD  TAYLOR. 


COME,  now,  there  may  as  well  be  an  end  of 
this  !  Every  time  I  meet  your  eyes  squarely 
I  detect  the  question  just  slipping  out  of  them.  If 
you  had  spoken  it,  or  even  boldly  looked  it  ;  if  you 
had  shown  in  your  motions  the  least  sign  of  a  fussy 
or  fidgety  concern  on  my  Account  ;  if  this  were 
not  the  evening  of  my  birthday,  and  you  the  only 
friend  who  remembered  it  ;  if  confession  were  not 
good  for  the  soul,  though  harder  than  sin  to  some 
people,  of  whom  I  am  one, — well,  if  all  reasons 
were  not  at  this  instant  converged  into  a  focus, 
and  burning  me  rather  violently  in  that  region 
where  the  seat  of  emotion  is  supposed  to  lie,  I 
should  keep  my  trouble  to  myself. 

Yes,  I  have  fifty  times  had  it  on  my  mind  to  tell 
you  the  whole  story.  But  who  can  be  certain  that 
his  best  friend  will  not  smile — or,  what  is  worse, 

«*•  Atlantic  Monthly^  Septtmltrt  1(74. 

4  V^ '«  *  V  \  "  *•  t  J^  '  •  •  \  v,  ',  ^  \   »  V  v  ;  '  ••  *  •*  *  * 


6  WHO  WAS  SffEf 

cherish  a  kind  of  charitable  pity  ever  afterwards— 
when  the  external  forms  of  a  very  serious  kind  of 
passion  seem  trivial,  fantastic,  foolish  ?  And  the 
worst  of  all  is  that  the  heroic  part  which  I  im- 
agined I  was  playing  proves  to  have  been  almost 
the  reverse.  The  only  comfort  which  I  can  find  in 
my  humiliation  is  that  I  am  capable  of  feeling  it. 
There  isn't  a  bit  of  a  paradox  in  this,  as  you  will 
see  ;  but  I  only  mention  it,  now,  to  prepare  you 
for,  maybe,  a  little  morbid  sensitiveness  of  my 
moral  nerves. 

The  documents  are  all  in  this  portfolio,  under 
my  elbow.  I  had  just  read  them  again  conmletely 
through,  when  you  were  announced.  You  may 
examine  them  as  you  like,  afterwards  :  for  the 
present,  fill  your  glass,  take  another  Cabafia,  and 
keep  silent  until  my  "  ghastly  tale"  has  reached  its 
most  lamentable  conclusion. 

The  beginning  of  it  was  at  Wampsocket  Springs 
three  years  ago  last  summer.  I  suppose  most  un- 
married men  who  have  reached,  or  passed,  the  age 
of  thirty — and  I  was  then  thirty-three — experience 
a  milder  return  of  their  adolescent  warmth,  a  kind 
of  fainter  second  spring,  since  the  first  has  not  ful- 
filled its  promise.  Of  course,  I  wasn't  clearly 
conscious  of  this  at  the  time  :  who  is  ?  But  I  had 
had  my  youthful  passion  and  my  tragic  disappoint- 
ment, as  you  know  :  I  had  looked  far  enough  into 
what  Thackeray  used  to  call  the  cryptic  mysteries, 
to  save  me  from  the  Scylla  of  dissipation,  and  yet 
preserved  enough  of  natural  nature  to  keep  me  out 


WHO  WAS  SHEt  7 

of  the  Pharisaic  Charybdis.  My  devotion  to  my 
legal  studies  had  already  brought  me  a  mild  dis- 
tinction ;  the  paternal  legacy  was  a  good  nest-egg 
for  the  incubation  of  wealth, — in  short,  I  was  a 
fair,  respectable  "  party,"  desirable  to  the  humbler 
mammas,  and  not  to  be  despised  by  the  haughty 
exclusives. 

The  fashionable  hotel  at  the  Springs  holds  three 
hundred,  and  it  was  packed.  I  had  meant  to 
lounge  there  for  a  fortnight  and  then  finish  my 
holidays  at  Long  Branch  ;  but  eighty,  at  least, 
out  of  the  three  hundred,  were  young  and  moved 
lightly  in  muslin.  With  my  years  and  experience 
I  felt  so  safe,  that  to  walk,  talk,  or  dance  with 
them  became  simply  a  luxury,  such  as  I  had  never 
— at  least  so  freely — possessed  before.  My  name 
and  standing,  known  to  some  families,  were  agree- 
ably exaggerated  to  the  others,  and  I  enjoyed  that 
supreme  satisfaction  which  a  man  always  feels 
when  he  discovers  or  imagines  that  he  is  popular 
in  society.  There  is  a  kind  of  premonitory 
apology  implied  in  my  saying  this,  I  am  aware. 
You  must  remember  that  I  am  culprit  and  culprit's 
counsel  at  the  same  time. 

You  have  never  been  at  Wampsocket  ?  Well,  the 
hills  sweep  around  in  a  crescent  on  the  northern 
side  and  four  or  five  radiating  glens  descending 
from  them  unite  just  above  the  village.  The  cen- 
tral one  leading  to  a  waterfall  (called  "  Minne- 
hehe"  by  the  irreverent  young  people,  because 
there  is  so  little  of  it),  is  the  fashionable  drive  and 


S  WHO  WAS  SHEt 

promenade  ;  but  the  second  ravine  on  the  left, 
steep,  crooked,  and  cumbered  with  bowlders  which 
have  tumbled  from  somewhere  and  lodged  in  the 
most  extraordinary  groupings,  became  my  favorite 
walk  of  a  morning.  There  was  a  footpath  in  it, 
well-trodden  at  first,  but  gradually  fading  out  as  it 
became  more  like  a  ladder  than  a  path,  and  I  soon 
discovered  that  no  other  city  feet  than  mine  were 
likely  to  scale  a  certain  rough  slope  which  seemed 
the  end  of  the  ravine.  With  the  aid  of  the  tough 
laurel-stems  I  climbed  to  the  top,  passed  through 
a  cleft  as  narrow  as  a  doorway,  and  presently 
found  myself  in  a  little  upper  dell,  as  wild  and 
sweet  and  strange  as  one  of  the  pictures  that  haunt 
us  on  the  brink  of  sleep. 

There  was  a  pond — no,  rather  a  bowl — of  water 
in  the  centre  ;  hardly  twenty  yards  across,  yet  the 
sky  in  it  was  so  pure  and  far  down  that  the  circle 
of  rocks  and  summer  foliage  inclosing  it  seemed 
like  a  little  planetary  ring,  floating  off  alone 
through  space.  I  can't  explain  the  charm  of  the 
spot,  nor  the  selfishness  which  instantly  suggest- 
ed that  I  should  keep  the  discovery  to  myself. 
Ten  years  earlier,  I  should  have  looked  around 
for  some  fair  spirit  to  be  my  "minister,"  but 
now — 

One  forenoon— I  think  it  was  the  third  or  fourth 
time  I  had  visited  the  place— I  was  startled  to  find 
the  dint  of  a  heel  in  the  earth,  half-way  up  the 
slope.  There  had  been  rain  during  the  night,  and 
the  earth  was  still  moist  and  soft.  It  was  the  mark 


WHO   WAS  SHE?  9 

of  a  woman's  boot,  only  to  be  distinguished  from 
that  of  a  walking-stick  by  its  semicircular  form. 
A  little  higher,  I  found  the  outline  of  a  foot,  not 
so  small  as  to  awake  an  ecstasy,  but  with  a  sug- 
gestion of  lightness,  elasticity,  and  grace.  If 
hands  were  thrust  through  holes  in  a  board- 
fence,  and  nothing  of  the  attached  bodies  seen,  I 
can  easily  imagine  that  some  would  attract  and 
others  repel  us  :  with  footprints  the  impression  is 
weaker,  of  course,  but  we  cannot  escape  it.  I  am 
not  sure  whether  I  wanted  to  find  the  unknown 
wearer  of  the  boot  within  my  precious  personal 
solitude  ;  I  was  afraid  I  should  see  her,  while  pass- 
ing through  the  rocky  crevice,  and  yet  was  disap- 
pointed when  I  found  no  one. 

But  on  the  flat,  warm  rock  overhanging  the  tarn 
— my  special  throne — lay  some  withering  wild- 
flowers,  and  a  book  !  I  looked  up  and  down, 
right  and  left  :  there  was  not  the  slightest  sign  of 
another  human  life  than  mine.  Then  I  lay  down 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  listened  ;  there  were 
only  the  noises  of  bird  and  squirrel,  as  before.  At 
last  I  took  up  the  book,  the  flat  breadth  of  which 
suggested  only  sketches.  There  were,  indeed, 
some  tolerable  studies  of  rocks  and  trees  on  the 
first  pages  ;  a  few  not  very  striking  caricatures, 
which  seemed  to  have  been  commenced  as  por- 
traits, but  recalled  no  faces  I  knew  ;  then  a  num- 
ber of  fragmentary  notes,  written  in  pencil.  I 
found  no  name,  from  first  to  last  ;  only,  under  the 
sketches,  a  monogram  so  complicated  and  labori- 


IO 


WHO  WAS  SHE? 


ous  that  the  initials  could  hardly  be  discovered  un- 
less one  already  knew  them. 

The  writing  was  a  woman's,  but  it  had  surely 
taken  its  character  from  certain  features  of  her 
own  :  it  was  clear,  firm,  individual.  It  had  noth- 
ing of  that  air  of  general  debility  which  usually 
marks  the  manuscript  of  young  ladies,  yet  its 
firmness  was  far  removed  from  the  stiff,  conven- 
tional slope  which  all  Englishwomen  seem  to  ac- 
quire in  youth  and  retain  through  life.  I  don't 
see  how  any  man  in  my  situation  could  have 
helped  reading  a  few  lines — if  only  for  the  sake  of 
restoring  lost  property.  But  I  was  drawn  on,  and 
on,  and  finished  by  reading  all  :  thence,  since  no 
further  harm  could  be  done,  I  re-read,  pondering 
over  certain  passages  until  they  stayed  with  me. 
Here  they  are,  as  I  set  them  down,  that  evening, 
on  the  back  of  a  legal  blank  : 

"  It  makes  a  great  deal  of  difference  whether  we 
wear  social  forms  as  bracelets  or  handcuffs." 

"  Can  we  not  still  be  wholly  our  independent 
selves,  even  while  doing,  in  the  main,  as  others 
do  ?  I  know  two  who  are  so  ;  but  they  are  mar- 
ried." 

"  The  men  who  admire  these  bold,  dashing 
young  girls  treat  them  like  weaker  copies  of  them- 
selves. And  yet  they  boast  of  what  they  call  '  ex- 
perience ! '  " 

"  I  wonder  if  any  one  felt  the  exquisite  beauty 
of  the  noon  as  I  did,  to-day  ?  A  faint  apprecia- 
tion of  sunsets  and  storms  is  taught  us  in  youth, 


WHO   WAS  SHE?  II 

and  kept  alive  by  novels  and  flirtations  ;  but  the 
broad,  imperial  splendor  of  this  summer  noon  ! — 
and  myself  standing  alone  in  it  —  yes,  utterly 
alone  !" 

"  The  men  I  seek  must  exist  :  where  are  they  ? 
How  make  an  acquaintance,  when  one  obsequi- 
ously bows  himself  away,  as  I  advance  ?  The  fault 
is  surely  not  all  on  my  side." 

There  was  much  more,  intimate  enough  to  in- 
spire me  with  a  keen  interest  in  the  writer,  yet  not 
sufficiently  so  to  make  my  perusal  a  painful  indis- 
cretion. I  yielded  to  the  impulse  of  the  moment, 
took  out  my  pencil,  and  wrote  a  dozen  lines  on  one 
of  the  blank  pages.  They  ran  something  in  this 
wise  : 

"  IGNOTUS  IGNOT.E  ! — You  have  bestowed  with- 
out intending  it,  and  I  have  taken  without  your 
knowledge.  Do  not  regret  the  accident  which  has 
enriched  another.  This  concealed  idyl  of  the  hills 
was  mine,  as  I  supposed,  but  I  acknowledge  your 
equal  right  to  it.  Shall  we  share  the  possession, 
or  will  you  banish  me  ?" 

There  was  a  frank  advance,  tempered  by  a 
proper  caution,  I  fancied,  in  the  words  I  wrote.  It 
was  evident  that  she  was  unmarried,  but  outside 
of  that  certainty  there  lay  a  vast  range  of  possi- 
bilities, some  of  them  alarming  enough.  How- 
ever, if  any  nearer  acquaintance  should  arise  out 
of  the  incident,  the  next  step  must  be  taken  by 


12  WHO  WAS  SHE} 

her.     Was  I  one  of  the  men  she  sought  ?    I  almost 
imagined  so — certainly  hoped  so. 

I  laid  the  book  on  the  rock,  as  I  had  found  it, 
bestowed  another  keen  scrutiny  on  the  lonely 
landscape,  and  then  descended  the  ravine.  That 
evening,  I  went  early  to  the  ladies'  parlor,  chatted 
more  than  usual  with  the  various  damsels  whom 
I  knew,  and  watched  with  a  new  interest  those 
whom  I  knew  not.  My  mind,  involuntarily,  had 
already  created  a  picture  of  the  unknown.  She 
might  be  twenty-five,  I  thought :  a  reflective  habit 
of  mind  would  hardly  be  developed  before  that 
age.  Tall  and  stately,  of  course  ;  distinctly  proud 
in  her  bearing,  and  somewhat  reserved  in  her 
manners.  Why  she  should  have  large  dark  eyes, 
with  long  dark  lashes,  I  could  not  tell  ;  but  so  I 
seemed  to  see  her.  Quite  forgetting  that  I  was  (or 
had  meant  to  be)  Ignotus,  I  found  myself  staring 
rather  significantly  at  one  or  the  other  of  the 
young  ladies,  in  whom  I  discovered  some  slight 
general  resemblance  to  the  imaginary  character. 
My  fancies,  I  must  confess,  played  strange  pranks 
with  me.  They  had  been  kept  in  a  coop  so  many 
years,  that  now,  when  I  suddenly  turned  them 
loose,  their  rickety  attempts  at  flight  quite  be- 
wildered me. 

No  !  there  was  no  use  in  expecting  a  sudden  dis- 
covery. I  went  to  the  glen  betimes,  next  morn- 
ing :  the  book  was  gone,  and  so  were  the  faded 
flowers,  but  some  of  the  latter  were  scattered  over 
the  top  of  another  rock,  a  few  yards  from  mine. 


WHO  WAS  SHE?  13 

Ha  !  this  means  that  I  am  not  to  withdraw,  I  said 
to  myself  :  she  makes  room  for  me  !  But  how  to 
surprise  her  ? — for  by  this  time  I  was  fully  resolved 
to  make  her  acquaintance,  even  though  she  might 
turn  out  to  be  forty,  scraggy,  and  sandy-haired. 

I  knew  no  other  way  so  likely  as  that  of  visiting 
the  glen  at  all  times  of  the  day.  I  even  went  so 
far  as  to  write  a  line  of  greeting,  with  a  regret  that 
our  visits  had  not  yet  coincided,  and  laid  it  under 
a  stone  on  the  top  of  her  rock.  The  note  disap- 
peared, but  there  was  no  answer  in  its  place. 
Then  I  suddenly  remembered  her  fondness  for  the 
noon  hours,  at  which  time  she  was  "  utterly 
alone."  The  hotel  table  d'hote  was  at  one  o'clock  : 
her  family,  doubtless,  dined  later,  in  their  own 
rooms.  Why,  this  gave  me,  at  least,  her  place  in 
society  !  The  question  of  age,  to  be  sure,  re- 
mained unsettled  ;  but  all  else  was  safe. 

The  next  day  I  took  a  late  and  large  breakfast 
and  sacrificed  my  dinner.  Before  noon  the  guests 
had  all  straggled  back  to  the  hotel  from  glen  and 
grove  and  lane,  so  bright  and  hot  was  the  sun- 
shine. Indeed,  I  could  hardly  have  supported  the 
reverberation  of  heat  from  the  sides  of  the  ravine, 
but  for  a  fixed  belief  that  I  should  be  successful. 
While  crossing  the  narrow  meadow  upon  which  it 
opened,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  something  white 
among  the  thickets  higher  up.  A  moment  later, 
it  had  vanished,  and  I  quickened  my  pace,  feeling 
the  beginning  of  an  absurd  nervous  excitement  in 
my  limbs.  At  the  next  turn,  there  it  was  again  ! 


,4  WHO  WAS  SHE? 

but  only  for  another  moment.  I  paused,  exulting, 
and  wiped  my  drenched  forehead.  "  She  cannot 
escape  me !"  I  murmured  between  the  deep 
draughts  of  cooler  air  I  inhaled  in  the  shadow  of  a 
rock. 

A  few  hundred  steps  more  brought  me  to  the 
foot  of  the  steep  ascent,  where  I  had  counted  on 
overtaking  her.  I  was  too  late  for  that,  but  the 
dry,  baked  soil  had  surely  been  crumbled  and  dis- 
lodged, here  and  there,  by  a  rapid  foot.  I  fol- 
lowed, in  reckless  haste,  snatching  at  the  laurel- 
branches  right  and  left,  and  paying  little  heed  to 
my  footing.  About  one  third  of  the  way  up  I 
slipped,  fell,  caught  a  bush  which  snapped  at  the 
root,  slid,  whirled  over,  and  before  I  fairly  knew 
what  had  happened,  I  was  lying  doubled  up  at  the 
bottom  of  the  slope. 

I  rose,  made  two  steps  forward,  and  then  sat 
down  with  a  groan  of  pain  ;  my  left  ankle  was 
badly  sprained,  in  addition  to  various  minor 
scratches  and  bruises.  There  was  a  revulsion  of 
feeling,  of  course, — instant,  complete,  and  hide- 
ous. I  fairly  hated  the  Unknown.  "  Fool  that 
I  was  !"  I  exclaimed,  in  the  theatrical  manner, 
dashing  the  palm  of  my  hand  softly  against  my 
brow  :  "  lured  to  this  by  the  fair  traitress  !  But, 
no  ! — not  fair  :  she  shows  the  artfulness  of  faded, 
desperate  spinsterhood  ;  she  is  all  compact  of 
enamel,  '  liquid  bloom  of  youth,'  and  hair-dye  !" 

There  was  a  fierce  comfort  in  this  thought,  but 
it  couldn't  help  me  out  of  the  scrape.  I  dared  not 


WHO  WAS  SHE?  15 

sit  still,  lest  a  sun-stroke  should  be  added,  and 
there  was  no  resource  but  to  hop  or  crawl  down 
the  rugged  path,  in  the  hope  of  finding  a  forked 
sapling  from  which  I  could  extemporize  a  crutch. 
With  endless  pain  and  trouble  I  reached  a  thicket, 
and  was  feebly  working  on  a  branch  with  my  pen- 
knife, when  the  sound  of  a  heavy  footstep  sur- 
prised me. 

A  brown  harvest-hand,  in  straw  hat  and  shirt- 
sleeves, presently  appeared.  He  grinned  when  he 
saw  me,  and  the  thick  snub  of  his  nose  would  have 
seemed  like  a  sneer  at  any  other  time. 

"  Are  you  the  gentleman  that  got  hurt  ?"  he 
asked.  "  Is  it  pretty  tolerable  bad  ?" 

"Who  said  I  was  hurt?"  I  cried  in  astonish, 
ment. 

"  One  of  your  town-women  fro  them  hotel — I 
reckon  she  was.  I  was  binding  oats,  in  the  field 
over  the  ridge  ;  but  I  haven't  lost  no  time  in  corn- 
in'  here." 

While  I  was  stupidly  staring  at  this  announce- 
ment, he  whipped  out  a  big  clasp  knife,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  fashioned  me  a  practicable  crutch. 
Then,  taking  me  by  the  other  arm,  he  set  me  in 
motion  toward  the  village. 

Grateful  as  I  was  for  the  man's  help,  he  aggra- 
vated me  by  his  ignorance.  When  I  asked  if  he 
knew  the  lady,  he  answered  :  "  It's  more'n  likely 
you  know  her  better."  But  where  did  she  come 
from  ?  Down  from  the  hill,  he  guessed,  but  it 
might  ha'  been  up  the  road.  How  did  she  look  ? 


!6  WHO  WAS  SHE? 

was  she  old  or  young  ?  what  was  the  color  of  her 
eyes  ?  of  her  hair  ?  There,  now,  I  was  too  much 
for  him.  When  a  woman  kept  one  o'  them 
speckled  veils  over  her  face,  turned  her  head  away 
and  held  her  parasol  between,  how  were  you  to 
know  her  from  Adam  ?  I  declare  to  you,  I 
couldn't  arrive  at  one  positive  particular.  Even 
when  he  affirmed  that  she  was  tall,  he  added,  the 
next  instant  :  "  Now  I  come  to  think  on  it,  she 
stepped  mighty  quick  ;  so  I  guess  she  must  ha' 
been  short." 

By  the  time  we  reached  the  hotel,  I  was  in  a 
state  of  fever  ;  opiates  and  lotions  had  their  will  of 
me  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  I  was  glad  to  escape 
the  worry  of  questions,  and  the  conventional 
sympathy  expressed  in  inflections  of  the  voice 
which  are  meant  to  soothe,  and  only  exasperate. 
The  next  morning,  as  I  lay  upon  my  sofa,  restful, 
patient,  and  properly  cheerful,  the  waiter  entered 
with  a  bouquet  of  wild  flowers. 
"  Who  sent  them  ?"  I  asked. 
"  I  found  them  outside  your  door,  sir.  Maybe 
there's  a  card  ;  yes,  here's  a  bit  o'  paper." 

I  opened  the  twisted  slip  he  handed  me,  and 
read  :  "  From  your  dell— and  mine."  I  took  the 
flowers  ;  among  them  were  two  or  three  rare  and 
beautiful  varieties,  which  I  had  only  found  in 
that  one  spot.  Fool,  again  !  I  noiselessly  kissed, 
while  pretending  to  smell  them,  had  them  placed 
on  a  stand  within  reach,  and  fell  into  a  state  of 
quiet  and  agreeable  contemplation. 


WHO   WAS  SHE?  17 

Tell  me,  yourself,  whether  any  male  human 
being  is  ever  too  old  for  sentiment,  provided  that 
it  strikes  him  at  the  right  time  and  in  the  right 
way  !  What  did  that  bunch  of  wild  flowers  be- 
token ?  Knowledge,  first  ;  then,  sympathy  ;  and 
finally,  encouragement,  at  least.  Of  course  she 
had  seen  my  accident,  from  above  ;  of  course  she 
had  sent  the  harvest  laborer  to  aid  me  home.  It 
was  quite  natural  she  should  imagine  some  special 
romantic  interest  in  the  lonely  dell,  on  my  part, 
and  the  gift  took  additional  value  from  her  con- 
jecture. 

Four  days  afterward  there  was  a  hop  in  the 
large  dining-room  of  the  hotel.  Early  in  the 
morning  a  fresh  bouquet  had  been  left  at  my  door. 
I  was  tired  of  my  enforced  idleness,  eager  to  dis- 
cover the  fair  unknown  (she  was  again  fair,  to  my 
fancy  !),  and  I  determined  to  go  down,  believing 
that  a  cane  and  a  crimson  velvet  slipper  on  the 
left  foot  would  provoke  a  glance  of  sympathy 
from  certain  eyes,  and  thus  enable  me  to  detect 
them. 

The  fact  was,  the  sympathy  was  much  too  gen- 
eral and  effusive.  Everybody,  it  seemed,  came  to 
me  with  kindly  greetings  ;  seats  were  vacated  at 
my  approach,  even  fat  Mrs.  Huxter  insisting  on 
my  taking  her  warm  place,  at  the  head  of  the 
room.  But  Bob  Leroy — you  know  him — as  gallant 
a  gentleman  as  ever  lived,  put  me  down  at  the 
right  point,  and  kept  me  there.  He  only  meant  to 
divert  me,  yet  gave  me  the  only  place  where  I 


:g  WHO  WAS  SHE? 

could  quietly  inspect  all  the  younger  ladies,  as 
dance  or  supper  brought  them  near. 

One  of  the  dances  was  an  old-fashioned  cotillon, 
and  one  of  the  figures,  the  "coquette,"  brought 
every  one,  in  turn,  before  me.  I  received  a 
pleasant  word  or  two  from  those  whom  I  knew, 
and  a  long,  kind,  silent  glance  from  Miss  May 
Danvers.  Where  had  been  my  eyes  ?  She  was 
tall,  stately,  twenty-five,  had  large  dark  eyes,  and 
long  dark  lashes  !  Again  the  changes  of  the  dance 
brought  her  near  me  ;  I  threw  (or  strove  to  throw) 
unutterable  meanings  into  my  eyes,  and  cast  them 
upon  hers.  She  seemed  startled,  looked  suddenly 
away,  looked  back  to  me,  and — blushed.  I  knew 
her  for  what  is  called  "a  nice  girl" — that  is, 
tolerably  frank,  gently  feminine,  and  not  danger- 
ously intelligent.  Was  it  possible  that  I  had  over- 
looked so  much  character  and  intellect  ? 

As  the  cotillon  closed,  she  was  again  in  my 
neighborhood,  and  her  partner  led  her  in  my 
direction.  I  was  rising  painfully  from  my  chair, 
when  Bob  Leroy  pushed  me  down  again,  whisked 
another  seat  from  somewhere,  planted  it  at  my 
side,  and  there  she  was  ! 

She  knew  who  was  her  neighbor,  I  plainly  saw  ; 
but  instead  of  turning  toward  me,  she  began  to 
fan  herself  in  a  nervous  way  and  to  fidget  with  the 
buttons  of  her  gloves.  I  grew  impatient. 

11  Miss  Danvers  !"  I  said,  at  last. 

"  Oh  !"  was  all  her  answer,  as  she  looked  at  me 
for  a  moment. 


WHO   WAS  SHE?  19 

"  Where  are  your  thoughts  ?"  I  asked. 

Then  she  turned,  with  wide,  astonished  eyes, 
coloring  softly  up  to  the  roots  of  her  hair.  My 
heart  gave  a  sudden  leap. 

"  How  can  you  tell,  if  I  cannot?"  she  asked. 

"  May  I  guess  ?" 

She  made  a  slight  inclination  of  the  head,  saying 
nothing.  I  was  then  quite  sure. 

"  The  second  ravine,  to  the  left  of  the  main 
drive  ?" 

This  time  she  actually  started  ;  her  color  became 
deeper,  and  a  leaf  of  the  ivory  fan  snapped  between 
her  fingers. 

"  Let  there  be  no  more  a  secret !"  I  exclaimed. 
"  Your  flowers  have  brought  me  your  messages  ;  I 
knew  I  should  find  you" — 

Full  of  certainty,  I  was  speaking  in  a  low, 
impassioned  voice.  She  cut  me  short  by  rising 
from  her  seat ;  I  felt  that  she  was  both  angry  and 
alarmed.  Fisher,  of  Philadelphia,  jostling  right 
and  left  in  his  haste,  made  his  way  toward  her. 
She  fairly  snatched  his  arm,  clung  to  it  with  a 
warmth  I  had  never  seen  expressed  in  a  ball-room, 
and  began  to  whisper  in  his  ear.  It  was  not  five 
minutes  before  he  came  to  me,  alone,  with  a  very 
stern  face,  bent  down,  and  said  : 

"  If  you  have  discovered  our  secret,  you  will 
keep  silent.  You  are  certainly  a  gentleman." 

I  bowed  coldly  and  savagely.  There  was  a  draft 
from  the  open  window  ;  rny  ankle  became  sud- 
denly weary  and  painful,  and  I  went  to  bed.  Can 


20  WHO   WAS  SHEf 

you  believe  that  I  didn't  guess,  immediately,  what 
it  all  meant  ?  In  a  vague  way,  I  fancied  that  I  had 
been  premature  in  my  attempt  to  drop  our  mutual 
incognito,  and  that  Fisher,  a  rival  lover,  was 
jealous  of  me.  This  was  rather  flattering  than 
otherwise  ;  but  when  I  limped  down  to  the  ladies' 
parlor,  the  next  day,  no  Miss  Danvers  was  to  be 
seen.  I  did  not  venture  to  ask  for  her  ;  it  might 
seem  importunate,  and  a  woman  of  so  much  hidden 
capacity  was  evidently  not  to  be  wooed  in  the 
ordinary  way. 

So  another  night  passed  by  ;  and  then,  with  the 
morning,  came  a  letter  which  made  me  feel,  at  the 
same  instant,  like  a  fool  and  a  hero.  It  had  been 
dropped  in  the  Wampsocket  post-office,  was 
legibly  addressed  to  me,  and  delivered  with  some 
other  letters  which  had  arrived  by  the  night  mail. 
Here  it  is  ;  listen  ! 

"  Noxo  TGNOTA  !— Haste  is  not  a  gift  of  the  gods, 
and  you  have  been  impatient,  with  the  usual  result. 
I  was  almost  prepared  for  this,  and  thus  am  not 
wholly  disappointed.  In  a  day  or  two  more  you 
will  discover  your  mistake,  which,  so  far  as  I  can 
learn,  has  done  no  particular  harm.  If  you  wish 
to  find  me,  there  is  only  one  way  to  seek  me  ; 
should  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  I  should  run  the  risk 
of  losing  you,— that  is,  I  should  preclude  the 
manifestation  of  a  certain  quality  which  I  hope  to 
find  in  the  man  who  may— or,  rather,  must— be 
my  friend.  This  sounds  enigmatical,  yet  you  have 


WHO   WAS  SHE?  21 

read  enough  of  my  nature,  as  written  in  these 
random  notes  in  my  sketch-book,  to  guess,  at  least, 
how  much  I  require.  Only  this  let  me  add  :  mere 
guessing  is  useless. 

"  Being  unknown,  I  can  write  freely.  If  you  find 
me,  I  shall  be  justified  ;  if  not,  I  shall  hardly  need 
to  blush,  even  to  myself,  over  a  futile  experiment. 

"  It  is  possible  for  me  to  learn  enough  of  your 
life,  henceforth,  to  direct  my  relation  toward  you. 
This  may  be  the  end  ;  if  so,  I  shall  know  it  soon. 
I  shall  also  know  whether  you  continue  to  seek 
me.  Trusting  in  your  honor  as  a  man,  I  must  ask 
you  to  trust  in  mine,  as  a  woman." 

I  did  discover  my  mistake,  as  the  Unknown 
promised.  There  had  been  a  secret  betrothal  be- 
tween Fisher  and  Miss  Danvers  ;  and  singularly 
enough,  the  momentous  question  and  answer  had 
been  given  in  the  very  ravine  leading  to  my  upper 
dell !  The  two  meant  to  keep  the  matter  to  them- 
selves, but  therein,  it  seems,  I  thwarted  them; 
there  was  a  little  opposition  on  the  part  of  their 
respective  families,  but  all  was  amicably  settled 
before  I  left  Wampsocket. 

The  letter  made  a  very  deep  impression  upon 
me.  What  was  the  one  way  to  find  her  ?  What 
could  it  be  but  the  triumph  that  follows  ambitious 
toil — the  manifestation  of  all  my  best  qualities,  as 
a  man  ?  Be  she  old  or  young,  plain  or  beautiful, 
I  reflected,  hers  is  surely  a  nature  worth  knowing, 
and  its  candid  intelligence  conceals  no  hazards  for 


22  WHO  WAS  SHE? 

me.  I  have  sought  her  rashly,  blundered,  betrayed 
that  I  set  her  lower,  in  my  thoughts,  than  her 
actual  self  :  let  me  now  adopt  the  opposite  course, 
seek  her  openly  no  longer,  go  back  to  my  tasks, 
and,  following  my  own  aims  vigorously  and  cheer- 
fully, restore  that  respect  which  she  seemed  to  be 
on  the  point  of  losing.  For,  consciously  or  not, 
she  had  communicated  to  me  a  doubt,  implied  in 
the  very  expression  of  her  own  strength  and  pride. 
She  had  meant  to  address  me  as  an  equal,  yet, 
despite  herself,  took  a  stand  a  little  above  that 
which  she  accorded  to  me. 

I  came  back  to  New  York  earlier  than  usual, 
worked  steadily  at  my  profession  and  with  increas- 
ing success,  and  began  to  accept  opportunities 
(which  I  had  previously  declined)  of  making  myself 
personally  known  to  the  great,  impressible,  fickle, 
tyrannical  public.  One  or  two  of  my  speeches  in 
the  hall  of  the  Cooper  Institute,  on  various  occa- 
sions— as  you  may  perhaps  remember — gave  me  a 
good  headway  with  the  party,  and  were  the  chief 
cause  of  my  nomination  for  the  State  office  which 
I  still  hold.  (There,  on  the  table,  lies  a  resigna- 
tion, written  to-day,  but  not  yet  signed.  We'll 
talk  of  it  afterwards.) 

Several  months  passed  by,  and  no  further  letter 
reached  me.  I  gave  up  much  of  my  time  to  society, 
moved  familiarly  in  more  than  one  province  of  the 
kingdom  here,  and  vastly  extended  my  acquaint- 
ance, especially  among  the  women  ;  but  not  one 
of  them  betrayed  the  mysterious  something  or 


WHO   WAS  SHEt  23 

Other — really  I  can't  explain  precisely  what  it 
was  ! — which  I  was  looking  for.  In  fact,  the  more 
I  endeavored  quietly  to  study  the  sex,  the  more 
confused  I  became. 

At  last  I  was  subjected  to  the  usual  onslaught 
from  the  strong-minded.  A  small  but  formidable 
committee  entered  my  office  one  morning  and  de- 
manded a  categorical  declaration  of  my  principles. 
What  my  views  on  the  subject  were,  I  knew  very 
well  ;  they  were  clear  and  decided  ;  and  yet,  I 
hesitated  to  declare  them!  It  wasn't  a  temptation 
of  Saint  Anthony — that  is,  turned  the  other  way 
— and  the  belligerent  attitude  of  the  dames  did 
not  alarm  me  in  the  least ;  but  she!  What  was  her 
position  ?  How  could  I  best  please  her?  It  flashed 

upon  my  mind,  while  Mrs.  was  making  her 

formal  speech,  that  I  had  taken  no  step  for  months 
without  a  vague,  secret  reference  to  her.  So,  I 
strove  to  be  courteous,  friendly,  and  agreeably 
non-committal  ;  begged  for  further  documents, 
and  promised  to  reply  by  letter,  in  a  few  days. 

I  was  hardly  surprised  to  find  the  well-known 
hand  on  the  envelope  of  a  letter,  shortly  after- 
wards. I  held  it  for  a  minute  in  my  palm,  with  an 
absurd  hope  that  I  might  sympathetically  feel  its 
character,  before  breaking  the  seal.  Then  I  read 
it  with  a  great  sense  of  relief. 

"  I  have  never  assumed  to  guide  a  man,  except 
toward  the  full  exercise  of  his  powers.  It  is  not 
opinion  in  action,  but  opinion  in  a  state  of  idle- 
ness or  indifference,  which  repels  me.  *  am 


24  WHO  WAS  SHE? 

deeply  glad  that  you  have  gained  so  much  since 
you  left  the  country.  If,  in  shaping  your  course, 
you  have  thought  of  me,  I  will  frankly  say  that,  to 
that  extent^  you  have  drawn  nearer.  Am  I  mis- 
taken in  conjecturing  that  you  wish  to  know  my 
relation  to  the  movement  concerning  which  you 
were  recently  interrogated  ?  In  this,  as  in  other 
instances  which  may  come,  I  must  beg  you  to  con- 
sider me  only  as  a  spectator.  The  more  my  own 
views  may  seem  likely  to  sway  your  action,  the  less 
I  shall  be  inclined  to  declare  them.  If  you  find 
this  cold  or  unwomanly,  remember  that  it  is  not 
easy !" 

Yes  !  I  felt  that  I  had  certainly  drawn  much 
nearer  to  her.  And  from  this  time  on,  her  imagi- 
nary face  and  form  became  other  than  they  were. 
She  was  twenty-eight — three  years  older ;  a  very 
little  above  the  middle  height,  but  not  tall  ; 
serene,  rather  than  stately,  in  her  movements  ; 
with  a  calm,  almost  grave  face,  relieved  by  the 
sweetness  of  the  full,  firm  lips  ;  and  finally  eyes  of 
pure,  limpid  gray,  such  as  we  fancy  belonged  to 
the  Venus  of  Milo.  I  found  her,  thus,  much  more 
attractive  than  with  the  dark  eyes  and  lashes — but 
she  did  not  make  her  appearance  in  the  circles 
which  I  frequented. 

Another  year  slipped  away.  As  an  official  per- 
sonage, my  importance  increased,  but  t  was  care- 
ful not  to  exaggerate  it  to  myself.  Many  have 
wondered  (perhaps  you  among  the  rest)  at  my 
success,  seeing  that  I  possess  no  remarkable  abili- 


WHO   WAS   SHE?  25 

ties.  If  I  have  any  secret,  it  is  simply  this — doing 
faithfully,  with  all  my  might,  whatever  I  under- 
take. Nine  tenths  of  our  politicians  become  in- 
flated and  careless,  after  the  first  few  years,  and 
are  easily  forgotten  when  they  once  lose  place.  I 
am  a  little  surprised,  now,  that  I  had  so  much 
patience  with  the  Unknown.  I  was  too  impor- 
tant, at  least,  to  be  played  with;  too  mature  to  be 
subjected  to  a  longer  test  ;  too  earnest,  as  I  had 
proved,  to  be  doubted,  or  thrown  aside  without  a 
further  explanation. 

Growing  tired,  at  last,  of  silent  waiting,  I  be- 
thought me  of  advertising.  A  carefully-written 
"  Personal,"  in  which  Ignotus  informed  Ignota  of 
the  necessity  of  his  communicating  with  her,  ap- 
peared simultaneously  in  the  Tribune,  Herald, 
World,  and  Times.  I  renewed  the  advertisement 
as  the  time  expired  without  an  answer,  and  I  think 
it  was  about  the  end  of  the  third  week  before  one 
came,  through  the  post,  as  before. 

Ah,  yes  !  I  had  forgotten.  See  !  my  advertise- 
ment is  pasted  on  the  note,  as  a  heading  or  motto 
for  the  manuscript  lines.  I  don't  know  why  the 
printed  slip  should  give  me  a  particular  feeling  of 
humiliation  as  I  look  at  it,  but  such  is  the  fact. 
What  she  wrote  is  all  I  need  read  to  you  : 

"  I  could  not,  at  first,  be  certain  that  this  was 
meant  for  me.  If  I  were  to  explain  to  you  why  I 
have  not  written  for  so  long  a  time,  I  might  give 
you  one  of  the  few  clews  which  I  insist  on  keep- 
ing in  my  own  hands.  In  your  public  capacity, 


26  WHO  WAS  SHE? 

you  have  been  (so  far  as  a  woman  may  judge)  up- 
right, independent,  wholly  manly:  in  your  relations 
with  other  men  I  learn  nothing  of  you  that  is  not 
honorable  :  toward  women  you  are  kind,  chival- 
rous, no  doubt,  overflowing  with  the  usual  social 
refinements,  but —  Here,  again,  I  run  hard  upon 
the  absolute  necessity  of  silence.  The  way  to  me, 
if  you  care  to  traverse  it,  is  so  simple,  so  very  sim- 
ple !  Yet,  after  what  I  have  written,  I  cannot  even 
wave  my  hand  in  the  direction  of  it,  without  cer- 
tain self-contempt.  When  I  feel  free  to  tell  you, 
we  shall  draw  apart  and  remain  unknown  forever. 

"  You  desire  to  write  ?  I  do  not  prohibit  it.  I 
have  heretofore  made  no  arrangement  for  hearing 
from  you,  in  turn,  because  I  could  not  discover 
that  any  advantage  would  accrue  from  it.  But  it 
seems  only  fair,  I  confess,  and  you  dare  not  think 
me  capricious.  So,  three  days  hence,  at  six 
o'clock  in  the  evening,  a  trusty  messenger  of  mine 
will  call  at  your  door.  If  you  have  anything  to 
give  her  for  me,  the  act  of  giving  it  must  be  the 
sign  of  a  compact  on  your  part,  that  you  will  al- 
low her  to  leave  immediately,  unquestioned  and 
unfollowed." 

You  look  puzzled,  I  see  :  you  don't  catch  the 
real  drift  of  her  words?  Well — that's  a  melan- 
choly encouragement.  Neither  did  I,  at  the  time  : 
it  was  plain  that  I  had  disappointed  her  in  some 
way,  and  my  intercourse  with,  or  manner  toward, 
women,  had  something  to  do  with  it.  In  vain  I 
ran  over  as  much  of  my  later  social  life  as  I  could 


WHO  WAS  SHE?  2} 

recall.  There  had  been  no  special  attention,  noth- 
ing to  mislead  a  susceptible  heart  ;  on  the  other 
side,  certainly  no  rudeness,  no  want  of  "  chival- 
rous" (she  used  the  word  !)  respect  and  atten- 
tion. What,  in  the  name  of  all  the  gods,  was  the 
matter  ? 

In  spite  of  all  my  efforts  to  grow  clearer,  I  was 
obliged  to  write  my  letter  in  a  rather  muddled 
state  of  mind.  I  had  so  much  to  say  !  sixteen 
folio  pages,  I  was  sure,  would  only  suffice  for  an 
introduction  to  the  case  ;  yet,  when  the  creamy 
vellum  lay  before  me  and  the  moist  pen  drew  my 
fingers  toward  it,  I  sat  stock  dumb  for  half  an 
hour.  I  wrote,  finally,  in  a  half-desperate  mood, 
without  regard  to  coherency  or  logic.  Here's  a 
rough  draft  of  a  part  of  the  letter,  and  a  single 
passage  from  it  will  be  enough  : 

"  I  can  conceive  of  no  simpler  way  to  you  than 
the  knowledge  of  your  name  and  address.  I  have 
drawn  airy  images  of  you,  but  they  do  not  become 
incarnate,  and  I  am  not  sure  that  I  should  recog- 
nize you  in  the  brief  moment  of  passing.  Your 
nature  is  not  of  those  which  are  instantly  legible. 
As  an  abstract  power,  it  has  wrought  in  my  life 
and  it  continually  moves  my  heart  with  desires 
which  are  unsatisfactory  because  so  vague  and 
ignorant.  Let  me  offer  you,  personally,  my  grati- 
tude, my  earnest  friendship  :  you  would  laugh  if 
I  were  now  to  offer  more." 

Stay  !  here  is  another  fragment,  more  reckless 
in  tone  : 


28  WHO   WAS  SHEt 

"  I  want  to  find  the  woman  whom  I  can  love — 
who  can  love  me.  But  this  is  a  masquerade  where 
the  features  are  hidden,  the  voice  disguised,  even 
the  hands  grotesquely  gloved.  Come  !  I  will 
venture  more  than  I  ever  thought  was  possible  to 
me.  You  shall  know  my  deepest  nature  as  I  my- 
self seem  to  know  it.  Then,  give  me  the  common- 
est chance  of  learning  yours,  through  an  inter- 
course which  shall  leave  both  free,  should  we  not 
feel  the  closing  of  the  inevitable  bond  !" 

After  I  had  written  that,  the  pages  filled  rapidly. 
When  the  appointed  hour  arrived,  a  bulky  epistle, 
in  a  strong  linen  envelope,  sealed  with  five  wax 
seals,  was  waiting  on  my  table.  Precisely  at  six 
there  was  an  announcement  :  the  door  opened, 
and  a  little  outside,  in  the  shadow,  I  saw  an  old 
woman,  in  a  threadbare  dress  of  rusty  black. 

"  Come  in  !"  I  said. 

"The  letter!"  answered  a  husky  voice.  She 
stretched  out  a  bony  hand,  without  moving  a  step. 

"It  is  for  a  lady — very  important  business," 
said  I,  taking  up  the  letter;  "are  you  sure  that 
there  is  no  mistake  ?" 

She  drew  her  hand  under  the  shawl,  turned 
without  a  word,  and  moved  toward  the  hall  door. 

"  Stop  !"  I  cried  ;  "  I  beg  a  thousand  pardons  ! 
Take  it— take  it !  You  are  the  right  messenger  !" 

She  clutched  it,  and  was  instantly  gone. 

Several  days  passed,  and  I  gradually  became  so 
nervous  and  uneasy  that  I  was  on  the  point  of  in- 
serting  another  "  Personal"  in  the  daily  papers, 


WHO   WAS  SHE?  29 

when  the  answer  arrived.  It  was  brief  and  mys- 
terious ;  you  shall  hear  the  whole  of  it. 

"  I  thank  you.  Your  letter  is  a  sacred  confi- 
dence which  I  pray  you  never  to  regret.  Your 
nature  is  sound  and  good.  You  ask  no  more 
than  is  reasonable,  and  I  have  no  real  right  to  re- 
fuse. In  the  one  respect  which  I  have  hinted,  7 
may  have  been  unskilful  or  too  narrowly  cautious  : 
I  must  have  the  certainty  of  this.  Therefore,  as  a 
generous  favor,  give  me  six  months  more  !  At 
the  end  of  that  time  I  will  write  to  you  again. 
Have  patience  with  these  brief  lines  :  another 
word  might  be  a  word  too  much." 

You  notice  the  change  in  her  tone  ?  The  letter 
gave  me  the  strongest  impression  of  a  new,  warm, 
almost  anxious  interest  on  her  part.  My  fancies, 
as  first  at  Wampsocket,  began  to  play  all  sorts  of 
singular  pranks  :  sometimes  she  was  rich  and  of  an 
old  family,  sometimes  moderately  poor  and  ob- 
scure, but  always  the  same  calm,  reposeful  face 
and  clear  gray  eyes.  I  ceased  looking  for  her  in 
society,  quite  sure  that  I  should  not  find  her,  and 
nursed  a  wild  expectation  of  suddenly  meeting 
her,  face  to  face,  in  the  most  unlikely  places  and 
under  startling  circumstances.  However,  the  end 
of  it  all  was  patience — patience  for  six  months. 

There's  not  much  more  to  tell  ;  but  this  last 
letter  is  hard  for  me  to  read.  It  came  punctually, 
to  a  day.  I  knew  it  would,  and  at  the  last  I  began 
to  dread  the  time,  as  if  a  heavy  note  were  falling 
due,  and  I  had  no  funds  to  meet  it.  My  head  was 


3o  WHO   WAS  SHE? 

in  a  whir!  when  I  broke  the  seal.  The  fact  in  it 
stared  at  me  blankly,  at  once,  but  it  was  a  long 
time  before  the  words  and  sentences  became  in- 
telligible. 

"  The  stipulated  time  has  come,  and  our  hidden 
romance  is  at  an  end.  Had  I  taken  this  resolu- 
tion a  year  ago,  it  would  have  saved  me  many 
vain  hopes,  and  you,  perhaps,  a  little  uncertainty. 
Forgive  me,  first,  if  you  can,  and  then  hear  the 
explanation  ! 

"  You  wished  for  a  personal  interview  :  you  have 
had,  not  one,  but  many.  We  have  met,  in  society, 
talked  face  to  face,  discussed  the  weather,  the 
opera,  toilettes,  Queechy,  Aurora  Floyd,  Long 
Branch  and  Newport,  and  exchanged  a  weary 
amount  of  fashionable  gossip  ;  and  you  never 
guessed  that  I  was  governed  by  any  deeper  inter- 
est !  I  have  purposely  uttered  ridiculous  plati- 
tudes, and  you  were  as  smilingly  courteous  as  if 
you  enjoyed  them  :  I  have  let  fall  remarks  whose 
hollowness  and  selfishness  could  not  have  escaped 
you,  and  have  waited  in  vain  for  a  word  of  sharp, 
honest,  manly  reproof.  Your  manner  to  me  was 
unexceptionable,  as  it  was  to  all  other  women  : 
but  there  lies  the  source  of  my  disappointment, 
of — yes — of  my  sorrow  ! 

"  You  appreciate,  I  cannot  doubt,  the  qualities 
in  woman  which  men  value  in  one  another — culture, 
independence  of  thought,  a  high  and  earnest  ap- 
prehension of  life  ;  but  you  know  not  how  to  seek 
them.  It  is  not  true  that  a  mature  and  unper- 


WHO   WAS  SHE?  31 

verted  woman  is  flattered  by  receiving  only  the 
general  obsequiousness  which  most  men  give  to 
the  whole  sex.  In  the  man  who  contradicts  and 
strives  with  her,  she  discovers  a  truer  interest, 
a  nobler  respect.  The  empty-headed,  spindle- 
shanked  youths  who  dance  admirably,  understand 
something  of  billiards,  much  less  of  horses,  and 
still  less  of  navigation,  soon  grow  inexpressibly 
wearisome  to  us  ;  but  the  men  who  adopt  their 
social  courtesy,  never  seeking  to  arouse,  uplift,  in- 
struct us,  are  a  bitter  disappointment. 

"  What  would  have  been  the  end,  had  you  really 
found  me  ?  Certainly  a  sincere,  satisfying  friend- 
ship. No  mysterious  magnetic  force  has  drawn 
you  to  me  or  held  you  near  me,  nor  has  mj;  ex- 
periment inspired  me  with  an  interest  which  can- 
not be  given  up  without  a  personal  pang.  I  am 
grieved,  for  the  sake  of  all  men  and  all  women. 
Yet,  understand  me  !  I  mean  no  slightest  re- 
proach. I  esteem  and  honor  you  for  what  you 
are.  Farewell  !" 

There.  Nothing  could  be  kinder  in  tone,  noth- 
ing more  humiliating  in  substance.  I  was  sore 
and  offended  for  a  few  days  ;  but  I  soon  began  to 
see,  and  ever  more  and  more  clearly,  that  she  was 
wholly  right.  I  was  sure,  also,  that  any  further 
attempt  to  correspond  with  her  would  be  vain, 
it  all  comes  of  taking  society  just  as  we  find  it, 
and  supposing  that  conventional  courtesy  is  the 
only  safe  ground  on  which  men  and  women  can 
meet. 


32  WHO  WAS  SHE? 

The  fact  is — there's  no  use  in  hiding  it  from  my- 
self (and  I  see,  by  your  face,  that  the  letter  cuts 
into  your  own  conscience) — she  is  a  free,  coura- 
geous, independent  character,  and — I  am  not. 

But  who  was  she  ? 


THE  DOCUMENTS  IN  THE  CASE. 

BY  BRANDER  MATTHEWS  AND  H.  C.  BUNNER. 
PART   FIRST: 

DOCUMENT    NO.    I. 

Paragraph  from  the  "Illustrated  London  News," 
published  under  the  head  of  "  Obituary  of  Eminent 
Persons"  in  the  issue  of  January  4th,  iSjp  : 

SIR   WILLIAM   BEAUVOIR,  BART. 

Sir  William  Beauvoir,  Bart.,  whose  lamented 
death  has  just  occurred  at  Brighton,  on  December 
28th,  was  the  head  and  representative  of  the  junior 
branch  of  the  very  ancient  and  honourable  family 
of  Beauvoir,  and  was  the  only  son  of  the  late  Gen- 
eral Sir  William  Beauvoir,  Bart.,  by  his  wife  Anne, 
daughter  of  Colonel  Doyle,  of  Chelsworth  Cot- 

»*«  ScriSner's  Monthly,  September,  1879. 


34  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN  THE   CASE. 

tage,  Suffolk.  He  was  born  in  1805,  and  was  edu- 
cated at  Eton  and  Trinity  Hall,  Cambridge.  He 
was  M.P.  for  Lancashire  from  1837  to  1847,  and 
was  appointed  a  Gentleman  of  the  Privy  Chamber 
in  1843.  Sir  William  married,  in  1826,  Henrietta 
Georgiana,  fourth  daughter  of  the  Right  Honour- 
able Adolphus  Liddell,  Q.C.,  by  whom  he  had 
two  sons,  William  Beauvoir  and  Oliver  Liddell 
Beauvoir.  The  latter  was  with  his  lamented  parent 
when  he  died.  Of  the  former  nothing  has  been 
heard  for  nearly  thirty  years,  about  which  time  he 
left  England  suddenly  for  America.  It  is  sup- 
posed that  he  went  to  California,  shortly  after  the 
discovery  of  gold.  Much  forgotten  gossip  will 
now  in  all  probability  be  revived,  for  the  will  of 
the  lamented  baronet  has  been  proved,  on  the  2d 
inst.,  and  the  personalty  sworn  under  ^70,000. 
The  two  sons  are  appointed  executors.  The  estate 
in  Lancashire  is  left  to  the  elder,  and  the  rest  is 
divided  equally  between  the  brothers.  The  doubt 
as  to  the  career  of  Sir  William's  eldest  son  must 
now  of  course  be  cleared  up. 

This  family  of  Beauvoirs  is  of  Norman  descent 
and  of  great  antiquity.  This  is  the  younger 
branch,  founded  in  the  last  century  by  Sir  William 
Beauvoir,  Bart.,  who  was  Chief  Justice  of  the 
Canadas,  whence  he  was  granted  the  punning  arms 
and  motto  now  borne  by  his  descendants — a 
beaver  sable  rampant  on  a  field  gules  ;  motto, 
"Damno." 


THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE.  35 


PART    SECOND: 

DOCUMENT    NO.   2. 

Promises   to  pay,  put  forth   by    William   Beauvoir, 
junior,  at  various  times  in  1848  : 


.  0.  0. 


am  iieauvol,  tant 


DOCUMENT    NO.  3. 

The  same. 


H  250.  0.  0. 
. 
William 


36  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE. 

DOCUMENT    NO.  4. 

The  same. 


o.  o. 
toih,  iM. 

'William  ffieauvoil,  iunt. 


DOCUMENT    NO.    5. 

Extract  from  the  "  Sunday  Satirist"  a  journal  of 
high-life,  published  in  London,  May  ijth,  1848  : 

Are  not  our  hereditary  lawmakers  and  the  mem- 
bers of  our  old  families  the  guardians  of  the  honour 
of  this  realm  ?  One  would  not  think  so  to  see  the 
reckless  gait  at  which  some  of  them  go  down  the 

road  to  ruin.     The  D e  of  D m   and    the 

E 1  of   B n  and    L d   Y g, — are  not 

these  pretty  guardians  of  a  nation's  name  ?  Quis 
custodiefi  etc.  Guardians,  forsooth,  parce  qu'Hs  se 
sont  donnes  la  peine  de  naitre  !  Some  of  the  gentry 
make  the  running  as  well  as  their  betters.  Young 

W m  B r,  son  of  old   Sir  W m  B r, 

late  M.P.  for  L e,  is  truly  a  model  young  man. 

He  comes  of  a  good  old  county  family  —  his 
mother  was  a  daughter  of  the  Right  Honourable 
A s  L 1,  and  he  himself  is  old  enough  to 


THE   DOCUMENTS  IX    THE    CASE.   '          37 

know  better.  But  we  hear  of  his  escapades  night 
after  night,  and  day  after  day.  He  bets  all  day 
and  he  plays  all  night,  and  poor  tired  nature  has 
to  make  the  best  of  it.  And  his  poor  worn  purse 
gets  the  worst  of  it.  He  has  duns  by  the  score. 
His  I.O.U. 's  are  held  by  every  Jew  in  the  city. 
He  is  not  content  with  a  little  gentlemanlike  game 
of  whist  or  ecarte,  but  he  must  needs  revive  for  his 
especial  use  and  behoof  the  dangerous  and  well- 
nigh  forgotten  pharaoh.  As  luck  would  have  it, 
he  had  lost  as  much  at  this  game  of  brute  chance 
as  ever  he  would  at  any  game  of  skill.  His  judg- 
ment of  horseflesh  is  no  better  than  his  luck  at 
cards.  He  came  a  cropper  over  the  "  Two  Thou- 
sand Guineas."  The  victory  of  the  favorite  cost 
him  to  the  tune  of  over  six  thousand  pounds.  We 
learn  that  he  hopes  to  recoup  himself  on  the 
Derby,  by  backing  Shylock  for  nearly  nine  thou- 
sand pounds  ;  one  bet  was  twelve  hundred  guineas. 
And  this  is  the  sort  of  man  who  may  be  chosen 
at  any  time  by  force  of  family  interest  to  make 
laws  for  the  toiling  millions  of  Great  Britain  ! 

DOCUMENT    NO.  6. 

Extract  from  "BelFs  Life"  of  May  iyth,  1848: 

THE  DERBY  DAY. 

WEDNESDAY. — This  day,  like  its  predecessor, 
opened  with  a  cloudless  sky,  and  the  throng  which 
crowded  the  avenues  leading  to  the  grand  scene  of 


38  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE    CASE. 

attraction  was,  as  we  have  elsewhere  remarked,  in- 
calculable. 

****** 

THE  DERBY. 

The  Derby  Slakes  of  50  sovs.  each,  h.  ft.  for  three- 
year-olds;  colts,  8  st.  7  lb.,  fillies,  8  st.  2  Ib. ;  the 
second  to  receive  100  sovs.,  and  the  winner  to  pay 
ico  sovs.  towards  police,  etc.;  mile  and  a  half  on 
the  new  Derby  course;  215  subs. 

Lord  Clifden's  b.  c.  Surplice,  by  Touchstone i 

Mr.  Bowe's  b.  c.  Springy  Jack,  by  Hetman 2 

Mr.  B.  Green's  br.  c.  Shylock,  by  Simoon 3 

Mr.  Payne's  b.  c.  Glendower,  by  Slane o 

Mr.  J.  P.  Day's  b.  c.  Nil  Desperandum,  by  Venison  o 


DOCUMENT  NO.   7. 

Paragraph  of  Shipping  Intelligence  from  the  '  '•Liver- 
pool Courier  ' '  of  June  2ist,  1848 : 

The  bark  Euterpe,  Captain  Riding,  belonging  to 
the  Transatlantic  Clipper  Line  of  Messrs.  Judkins  & 
Cooke,  left  the  Mersey  yesterday  afternoon,  bound 
for  New  York.  She  took  out  the  usual  comple- 
ment of  steerage  passengers.  The  first  officer's 
cabin  is  occupied  by  Professor  Titus  Peebles, 
M.R.C.S.,  M.R.G.S.,  lately  instructor  in  metallur- 
gy at  the  University  of  Edinburgh,  and  Mr.  William 
Beauvoir.  Professor  Peebles,  we  are  informed, 
has  an  important  scientific  mission  in  the  States, 
and  will  not  return  for  six  months. 


THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE  CASE.  39 

DOCUMENT  NO.   8. 

Paragraph  from  the  "IV.   Y.  Herald"  of  September 
yth,  1848: 

While  we  well  know  that  the  record  of  vice  and 
dissipation  can  never  be  pleasing  to  the  refined 
tastes  of  the  cultivated  denizens  of  the  only  morally 
pure  metropolis  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  yet  it  may 
be  of  interest  to  those  who  enjoy  the  fascinating 
study  of  human  folly  and  frailty  to  "  point  a 
moral  or  adorn  a  tale"  from  the  events  transpir- 
ing in  our  very  midst.  Such  as  these  will  view 
with  alarm  the  sad  example  afforded  the  youth  of 
our  city  by  the  dissolute  career  of  a  young  lump 
of  aristocratic  affectation  and  patrician  profligacy, 
recently  arrived  in  this  city.  This  young  gentle- 
man s  (save  the  mark  !)  name  is  Lord  William  F, 
Beauvoir,  the  latest  scion  of  a  venerable  and 
wealthy  English  family.  We  print  the  full  name 
of  this  beautiful  exemplar  of  "  haughty  Albion," 
although  he  first  appeared  among  our  citizens 
under  the  alias  of  Beaver,  by  which  name  he  is 
now  generally  known,  although  recorded  on  the 
books  of  the  Astor  House  by  the  name  which  our 
enterprise  first  gives  to  the  public.  Lord  Beau- 
voir's  career  since  his  arrival  here  has  been  one  of 
unexampled  extravagance  and  mad  immorality. 
His  days  and  nights  have  been  passed  in  the  gild- 
ed palaces  of  the  fickle  goddess,  Fortune,  in 
Thomas  Street  and  College  Place,  where  he  has 
squandered  fabulous  sums,  by  some  stated  to 


40  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE. 

amount  to  over  ,£78,000  sterling.  It  is  satisfac- 
tory to  know  that  retribution  has  at  last  overtaken 
him.  His  enormous  income  has  been  exhausted  to 
the  ultimate  farthing,  and  at  latest  accounts  he 
had  quit  the  city,  leaving  behind  him,  it  is 
shrewdly  suspected,  a  large  hotel  bill,  though  no 
such  admission  can  be  extorted  from  his  last  land- 
lord, who  is  evidently  a  sycophantic  adulator  of 
British  "aristocracy." 

DOCUMENT  NO.  9. 

Certificate  of  deposit,  vulgarly  known  as  a  pawn' 
ticket,  issued  by  one  Simpson  to  William  Beauvoir, 
December  2d,  1848  : 

John  Simpson, 

Loan  Office, 

36  Bowery, 

New  York. 


&ee.  2nd, 


fne    %>ld    q$un4ina=ca!>e    'Wadch    and 
<jhaw, 

out-//-        tap 
rruiMm  $eauvoM. 

Dolls. 

tso 

Cts. 

00 

Not  accountable  in  case  of  fire,  damage,  moth,  robbery,  breakage,  &c. 

*5*  per  ann.  Good  for  i  year  only. 


THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE,  41 

DOCUMENT  NO.    IO. 

Letter  from  the  late  John  Phcenix,  found  among  the 
posthumous  papers  of  the  late  John  P.  Squibob,  and 
promptly  published  in  the  "  San  Diego  Herald  ": 

OFF  THE  COAST  OF  FLORIDA,  Jan.  3,  1849. 

MY  DEAR  SQUIB  : — I  imagine  your  pathetic  in- 
quiry as  to  my  whereabouts — pathetic,  not  to  say 
hypothetic — for  I  am  now  where  I  cannot  hear  the 
dulcet  strains  of  your  voice.  I  am  on  board  ship. 
I  am  half  seas  over.  I  am  bound  for  California 
by  way  of  the  Isthmus.  I  am  going  for  the  gold, 
my  boy,  the  gold.  In  the  mean  time  I  am  lying 
around  loose  on  the  deck  of  this  magnificent 
vessel,  the  Mercy  G.  Tarbox,  of  Nantucket,  bred  by 
Noah 's  Ark  out  of  Pilot-boat,  dam  by  Mudscow  out 
of  Raging  Canawl.  The  Mercy  G.  Tarbox  is  one  of 
the  best  boats  of  Nantucket,  and  Captain  Clear- 
starch is  one  of  the  best  captains  all  along  shore 
— although,  friend  Squibob,  I  feel  sure  that  you 
are  about  to  observe  that  a  captain  with  a  name 
like  that  would  give  any  one  the  blues.  But 
don't  do  it,  Squib!  Spare  me  this  once. 

But  as  a  matter  of  fact  this  ultramarine  joke  of 
yours  is  about  east.  It  was  blue  on  the  Mercy 
G. — mighty  blue,  too.  And  it  needed  the  inspir- 
ing hope  of  the  gold  I  was  soon  to  pick  up  in  nug- 
gets to  stiffen  my  back-bone  to  a  respectable  de- 
gree of  rigidity.  I  was  about  ready  to  wilt.  But 
I  discovered  two  Englishmen  on  board,  and  now  I 
get  along  all  right.  We  have  formed  a  little  tern- 


42  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE. 

perance  society — just  we  three,  you  know — to  see 
if  we  cannot,  by  a  course  of  sampling  and  severe 
study,  discover  which  of  the  captain's  liquors  is 
most  dangerous,  so  that  we  can  take  the  pledge 
not  to  touch  it.  One  of  them  is  a  chemist  or  a 
metallurgist,  or  something  scientific.  The  other 
is  a  gentleman. 

The  chemist  or  metallurgist  or  something  scien- 
tific is  Professor  Titus  Peebles,  who  is  going  out 
to  prospect  for  gold.  He  feels  sure  that  his  pro- 
fessional training  will  give  him  the  inside  track  in 
the  gulches  and  gold  mines.  He  is  a  smart  chap. 
He  invented  the  celebrated  "  William  Riley  Bak- 
ing Powder" — bound  to  rise  up  every  time. 

And  here  I  must  tell  you  a  little  circumstance. 
As  I  was  coming  down  to  the  dock  in  New  York, 
to  go  aboard  the  Mercy  G.,  a  small  boy  was  wallop- 
ing a  boy  still  smaller  ;  so  I  made  peace,  and  wal- 
loped them  both.  And  then  they  both  began  heav- 
ing rocks  at  me — one  of  which  I  caught  dexter- 
ously in  the  dexter  hand.  Yesterday,  as  I  was 
pacing  the  deck  with  the  professor,  I  put  my  hand 
in  my  pocket  and  found  this  stone.  So  I  asked  the 
professor  what  it  was. 

He  looked  at  it  and  said  it  was  gneiss. 

"Is  it?"  said  I.  "Well,  if  a  small  but  ener- 
getic youth  had  taken  you  on  the  back  of  the  head 
with  it,  you  would  not  think  it  so  nice  !" 

And  then,  O  Squib,  he  set  out  to  explain  that  he 
meant  "  gneiss,"  not  "  nice  !"  The  ignorance  of 
these  English  about  a  joke  is  really  wonderful.  It 


THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE.  43 

is  easy  to  see  that  they  have  never  been  brought 
up  on  them.  But  perhaps  there  was  some  excuse 
for  the  professor  that  day,  for  he  was  the  president 
pro  tern,  of  our  projected  temperance  society,  and 
as  such  he  head  been  making  a  quantitative  and 
qualitative  analysis  of  another  kind  of  quartz. 

So  much  for  the  chemist  or  metallurgist  or 
something  scientific.  The  gentleman  and  I  get  on 
better.  His  name  is  Beaver,  which  he  persists 
in  spelling  Beauvoir.  Ridiculous,  isn't  it  ?  How 
easy  it  is  to  see  that  the  English  have  never  had 
the  advantage  of  a  good  common-school  educa- 
tion— so  few  of  them  can  spell.  Here's  a  man  don't 
know  how  to  spell  his  own  name.  And  this  shows 
how  the  race  over  there  on  the  little  island  is  de- 
generating. It  was  not  so  in  other  days.  Shaks- 
pere,  for  instance,  not  only  knew  how  to  spell  his 
own  name,  but — and  this  is  another  proof  of  his 
superiority  to  his  contemporaries — he  could  spell 
it  in  half  a  dozen  different  ways. 

This  Beaver  is  a  clever  fellow,  and  we  get  on 
first  rate  together.  He  is  going  to  California  for 
gold — like  the  rest  of  us.  But  I  think  he  has  had  his 
share — and  spent  it.  At  any  rate  he  has  not  much 
now.  I  have  been  teaching  him  poker,  and  I  am 
afraid  he  won't  have  any  soon.  I  have  an  idea  he 
has  been  going  pretty  fast — and  mostly  down  hill. 
But  he  has  his  good  points.  He  is  a  gentleman 
all  through,  as  you  can  see.  Yes,  friend  Squibob, 
even  you  could  see  right  through  him.  We  are 
all  going  to  California  together,  and  I  wonder 


44  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE. 

which  one  of  the  three  will  turn  up  trumps  first- 
Beaver,  or  the  chemist,  metallurgist  or  something 
scientific,  or 

Yours  respectfully,  JOHN  PHCENIX. 

P.  S.  You  think  this  a  stupid  letter,  perhaps, 
and  not  interesting.  Just  reflect  on  my  surround- 
ings. Besides,  the  interest  will  accumulate  a  good 
while  before  you  get  the  missive.  And  I  don't 
know  how  you  ever  are  to  get  it,  for  there  is 
no  post-office  near  here,  and  on  the  Isthmus  the 
mails  are  as  uncertain  as  the  females  are  every- 
where. (I  am  informed  that  there  is  no  postage  on 
old  jokes — so  I  let  that  stand.)  J.  P. 

DOCUMENT    NO.    II. 

Extract  from  the  '  'Bone  Gulch  Palladium? '  June  jd, 
1850: 

Our  readers  may  remember  how  frequently  we 
have  declared  our  firm  belief  in  the  future  unex- 
ampled prosperity  of  Bone  Gulch.  We  saw  it 
in  the  immediate  future  the  metropolis  of  the  Pa- 
cific Slope,  as  it  was  intended  by  nature  to  be.  We 
pointed  out  repeatedly  that  a  time  would  come 
when"  Bone  Gulch  would  be  an  emporium  of  the 
arts  and  sciences  and  of  the  best  society,  even 
more  than  it  is  now.  We  foresaw  the  time 
when  the  best  men  from  the  old  cities  of  the  East 
would  come  flockifig  to  us,  passing  with  con- 
tempt the  puny  settlement  of  Deadhorse.  But 


THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE.  45 

even  we  did  not  so  soon  see  that  members  of  the 
aristocracy  of  the  effete  monarchies  of  despotic 
Europe  would  acknowledge  the  undeniable  advan- 
tages of  Bone  Gulch,  and  come  here  to  stay  per- 
manently and  forever.  Within  the  past  week 
we  have  received  here  Hon.  William  Beaver,  one 
of  the  first  men  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland,  a 
statesman,  an  orator,  a  soldier  and  an  extensive 
traveller.  He  has  come  to  Bone  Gulch  as  the  best 
spot  on  the  face  of  the  everlasting  universe.  It  is 
needless  to  say  that  our  prominent  citizens  have 
received  him  with  great  cordiality.  Bone  Gulch 
is  not  like  Deadhorse.  We  know  a  gentleman 
when  we  see  one. 

Hon.  Mr.  Beaver  is  one  of  nature's  noblemen  ;  he 
is  also  related  to  the  Royal  Family  of  England. 
He  is  a  second  cousin  of  the  Queen,  and  boards  at 
the  Tower  of  London  with  her  when  at  home. 
We  are  informed  that,  he  has  frequently  taken  the 
Prince  of  Wales  out  for  a  ride  in  his  baby-wagon. 

We  take  great  pleasure  in  congratulating  Bone 
Gulch  on  its  latest  acquisition.  And  we  know 
Hon.  Mr.  Beaver  is  sure  to  get  along  all  right  here 
under  the  best  climate  in  the  world  and  with  the 
fioblest  men  the  sun  ever  shofie  ofi. 


DOCUMENT    NO.    12. 

Extract  from  the  Dead  Horse  "  Gazette  and  Courier 
of  Civilization"  of  August  26th,  1850: 


46  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE. 

BONEGULCH'S  BRITISHER. 

Bonegulch  sits  in  sackcloth  and  ashes  and  cools 
her  mammoth  cheek  in  the  breezes  of  Colorado 
canyon.  The  self-styled  Emporium  of  the  West 
has  lost  her  British  darling,  Beaver  Bill,  the  big 
swell  who  was  first  cousin  to  the  Marquis  of  Buck- 
ingham and  own  grandmother  to  the  Emperor  of 
China,  the  man  with  the  biled  shirt  and  low-necked 
shoes.  This  curled  darling  of  the  Bonegulch 
aristocrat-worshippers  passed  through  Deadhorse 
yesterday,  clean  bust.  Those  who  remember  how 
the  four-fingered  editor  of  the  Bonegulch  "  Palla- 
dium" pricked  up  his  ears  and  lifted  up  his  falsetto 
crow  when  this  lovely  specimen  of  the  British  snob 
first  honored  him  by  striking  him  for  a  $  will 
appreciate  the  point  of  the  joke. 

It  is  said  that  the  "  Palladium"  is  going  to  come 
out,  when  it  makes  its  next  semi-occasional  appear- 
ance, in  full  mourning,  with  turned  rules.  For 
this  festive  occasion  we  offer  Brother  B.  the  use  of 
our  late  retired  Spanish  font,  which  we  have  dis- 
carded for  the  new  and  elegant  dress  in  which  we 
appear  to-day,  and  to  which  we  have  elsewhere 
called  the  attention  of  our  readers.  It  will  be  a 
change  for  the  "  Palladium's"  eleven  unhappy 
readers,  who  are  getting  very  tired  of  the  old  type 
cast  for  the  Concha  Mission  in  iSn,  which  tries  to 
make  up  for  its  lack  of  w's  by  a  plentiful  super- 
fluity of  greaser  u's.  How  are  you,  Brother  Biles  ? 

"We  don't  know  a  gent  when  we  see  him." 
Oh  no  (?)  ! 


THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE.  47 

DOCUMENT    NO.   13. 

Paragraph  from  '  '  Police  Court  Notes,  "  in  the  '•''New 
Centreville  \late  Dead  Horse\  Evening  Gazette"  Janu- 
ary 2d, 


HYMENEAL  HIGH   JINKS. 

William  Beaver,  better  known  ten  years  ago  as 
"  Beaver  Bill,"  is  now  a  quiet  and  prosperous 
agriculturalist  in  the  Steal  Valley.  He  was,  how- 
ever, a  pioneer  in  the  1849  movement,  and  a  vivid 
memory  of  this  fact  at  times  moves  him  to  quit  his 
bucolic  labors  and  come  in  town  for  a  real  old- 
fashioned  tare.  He  arrived  in  New  Centreville 
during  Christmas  week  ;  and  got  married  sud- 
denly, but  not  unexpectedly,  yesterday  morning. 
His  friends  took  it  upon  themselves  to  celebrate 
the  joyful  occasion,  rare  in  the  experience  of  at 
least  one  of  the  parties,  by  getting  very  high  on 
Irish  Ike's  whiskey  and  serenading  the  newly- 
married  couple  with  fish-horns,  horse-fiddles,  and 
other  improvised  musical  instruments.  Six  of  the 
participators  in  this  epithalamial  serenade,  name- 
ly, Jose  Tanco,  Hiram  Scuttles,  John  P.  Jones, 
Hermann  Bumgardner,  Jean  Durant  ("  Frenchy"), 
and  Bernard  McGinnis  ("  Big  Barney"),  were 
taken  in  tow  by  the  police  force,  assisted  by  citi- 
zens, and  locked  up  over  night,  to  cool  their  gen- 
erous enthusiasm  in  the  gloomy  dungeons  of  Jus- 
tice Skinner's  calaboose.  This  morning  all  were 
discharged  with  a  reprimand,  except  Big  Barney 
and  Jose  Tanco,  who,  being  still  drunk,  were  al- 


48  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN  THE   CASE. 

lotted  ten  days  in  default  of  $10.     The  bridal  pair 
left  this  noon  for  the  bridegroom's  ranch. 


DOCUMENT    NO.    14. 

Extract  from  "  The  New  York  Herald''  for  June 
,  1 86 i  : 

THE  RED  SKINS. 


A     BORDER    WAR    AT     LAST! 


INDIAN    INSURRECTION! 
RED   DEVILS  RISING! 


WOMEN  AND  CHILDREN  SEEKING  SAFETY  IN  THE  LARGER 
TOWNS. 


HORRIBLE   HOLOCAUSTS   ANTICIPATED. 


BURYING  THE  HATCHET — IN  THE  WHITE  MAN'S  HEAD. 


[SPECIAL  DESPATCH  TO  THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD.] 

CHICAGO,  June  22,  1861. 

Great  uneasiness  exists  all  along  the  Indian 
frontier.  Nearly  all  the  regular  troops  have  been 
withdrawn  from  the  West  for  service  in  the  South. 
With  the  return  of  the  warm  weather  it  seems  cer- 
tain that  the  red  skins  will  take  advantage  of  the 
opportunity  thus  offered,  and  inaugurate  a  bitter 
and  vindictive  fight  against  the  whites.  Rumors 
come  from  the  agencies  that  the  Indians  are  leav- 
ing in  numbers.  A  feverish  excitement  among 


THE  DOCUMENTS  IN    THE    CASE.  49 

them  has  been  easily  to  be  detected.  Their  ponies 
are  now  in  good  condition,  and  forage  can  soon  be 
had  in  abundance  on  the  prairie,  if  it  is  not 
already.  Everything  points  toward  a  sudden  and 
startling  outbreak  of  hostilities. 

[SPECIAL  DESPATCH  TO  THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD.] 

ST.  PAUL,  June  22,  1861. 

The  Sioux  near  here  are  all  in  a  ferment.  Expe- 
rienced Indian  fighters  say  the  signs  of  a  speedy 
going  on  the  war-path  are  not  to  be  mistaken. 
No  one  can  tell  how  soon  the  whole  frontier  may 
be  in  a  bloody  blaze.  The  women  and  children  are 
rapidly  coming  in  from  all  exposed  settlements. 
Nothing  overt  as  yet  has  transpired,  but  that 
the  Indians  will  collide  very  soon  with  the  settlers 
is  certain.  All  the  troops  have  been  withdrawn. 
In  our  defenceless  state  there  is  no  knowing  how 
many  lives  may  be  lost  before  the  regiments  of 
volunteers  now  organizing  can  take  the  field. 

LATER. 


THE  WAR  BEGUN. 


FIRST  BLOOD  FOR  THE  INDIANS. 


THE  SCALPING  KNIFE  AND  THE  TOMAHAWK  AT  WORK  AGAIN. 


[SPECIAL  DESPATCH  TO  THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD.] 

BLACK  WING  AGENCY,  June  22,  1861. 
The  Indians  made  a  sudden  and  unexpected  at- 
tack on  the  town  of  Coyote  Hill,  fort)'  miles  from 


50  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE. 

here,  last  night,  and  did  much  damage  before  the 
surprised  settlers  rallied  and  drove  them  off.  The 
red  skins  met  with  heavy  losses.  Among  the 
whites  killed  are  a  man  named  William  Beaver, 
sometimes  called  Beaver  Bill,  and  his  wife.  Their 
child,  a  beautiful  little  girl  of  two,  was  carried  off 
by  the  red  rascals.  A  party  has  been  made  up 
to  pursue  them.  Owing  to  their  taking  their 
wounded  with  them,  the  trail  is  very  distinct. 

DOCUMENT   NO.   15. 

Letter  from  Mrs,  Edgar  Saville,  in  San  Francisco, 
to  Mr.  Edgar  Savilte,  in  Chicago  : 


0* 

Monster  Variety  and  Dramatic  Combination, 

ON    THE    ROAD. 


G.    W.  K.  McCULLVM, 

Treasurer. 
HI.  SAMUELS, 

Stage  Manager. 


7 NO.  SHANKS, 


Advance. 


No  dates  filled  except  with  first- 
class  houses. 

Hall  owners  will  please  consider 
silence  a  polite  negative. 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  January  29,  1863. 
MY  DEAR  OLD  MAN  ! — Here  we  are  in  our 
second  week  at  Frisco  and  you  will  be  glad  to 
know  playing  to  steadily  increasing  biz,  having 
signed  for  two  weeks  more,  certain.  I  didn't  like 
to  mention  it  when  I  wrote  you  last,  but  things 
were  very  queer  after  we  left  Denver,  and  "  Treas- 
ury" was  a  mockery  till  we  got  to  Bluefoot 


THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE    CASE.  51 

Springs,  which  is  a  mining  town,  where  we  show- 
ed in  the  hotel  dining-room.  Then  there  was  a 
strike  just  before  the  curtain  went  up.  The  house 
was  mostly  miners  in  red  shirts  and  very  exact- 
ing. The  sinews  were  forthcoming  very  quick  my 
dear,  and  after  that  the  ghost  walked  quite  regu- 
lar. So  now  everything  is  bright,  and  you  wont 
have  to  worry  if  Chicago  doesn't  do  the  right 
thing  by  you. 

I  don't  find  this  engagement  half  as  disagree- 
able as  I  expected.  Of  course  it  aint  so  very  nice 
travelling  in  a  combination  with  variety  talent  but 
they  keep  to  themselves  and  we  regular  profes- 
sionals make  a  happy  family  that  Barnum  would  not 
be  ashamed  of  and  quite  separate  and  comfort- 
able. We  don't  associate  with  any  of  them  only 
with  The  Unique  Mulligans  wife,  because  he  beats 
her.  So  when  he  is  on  a  regular  she  sleeps  with 
me. 

And  talking  of  liquor  dear  old  man,  if  you  knew 
how  glad  and  proud  I  was  to  see  you  writing  so 
straight  and  steady  and  beautiful  in  your  three 
last  letters.  O,  Im  sure  my  darling  if  the  boys 
thought  of  the  little  wife  out  on  the  road  they 
wouldnt  plague  you  so  with  the  Enemy.  Tell 
Harry  Atkinson  this  from  me,  he  has  a  good  kind 
heart  but  he  is  the  worst  of  your  friends.  Every 
night  when  I  am  dressing  I  think  of  you  at 
Chicago,  and  pray  you  may  never  again  go  on  the 
way  you  did  that  terrible  night  at  Rochester. 
Tell  me  dear,  did  you  look  handsome  in  Horatio  ? 


52  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN    THE   CASE. 

You  ought  to  have  had  Laertes  instead  of  that 
duffing  Merivale. 

And  now  I  have  the  queerest  thing  to  tell  you. 
Jardine  is  going  in  for  Indians  and  has  secured  six 
very  ugly  ones.  I  mean  real  Indians,  not  profes- 
sional. They  are  hostile  Comanshies  or  some- 
thing who  have  just  laid  down  their  arms.  They 
had  an  insurrection  in  the  first  year  of  the  War, 
when  the  troops  went  East,  and  they  killed  all  the 
settlers  and  ranches  and  destroyed  the  canyons 
somewhere  out  in  Nevada,  and  when  they  were 
brought  here  they  had  a  wee  little  kid  with  them 
only  four  or  five  years  old,  but  so  sweet.  They  stole 
her  and  killed  her  parents  and  brought  her  up  for 
their  own  in  the  cunningest  little  moccasins.  She 
could  not  speak  a  word  of  English  except  her  own 
name  which  is  Nina.  She  has  blue  eyes  and  all 
her  second  teeth.  The  ladies  here  made  a  great 
fuss  about  her  and  sent  her  flowers  and  worsted 
afgans,  but  they  did  not  do  anything  else  for  her 
and  left  her  to  us. 

O  dear  old  man  you  must  let  me  have  her  ! 
You  never  refused  me  a  thing  yet  and  she  is  so 
like  our  Avonia  Marie  that  my  heart  almost  breaks 
when  she  puts  her  arms  around  my  neck — she  calls 
me  mamma  already.  I  want  to  have  her  with  us 
when  we  get  the  little  farm — and  it  must  be  near, 
that  little  farm  of  ours — we  have  waited  for  it  so 
long — and  something  tells  me  my  own  old  faker 
will  make  his  hit  soon  and  be  great.  You  cant 
tell  how  I  have  loved  it  and  hoped  for  it  and  hov; 


THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE.  53 

real  every  foot  of  that  farm  is  to  me.  And  though 
I  can  never  see  my  own  darling's  face  among  the 
roses  it  will  make  me  so  happy  to  see  this  poor 
dead  mothers  pet  get  red  and  rosy  in  the  country 
air.  And  till  the  farm  comes  we  shall  always  have 
enough  for  her,  without  your  ever  having  to  black 
up  again  as  you  did  for  me  the  winter  I  was  sick 
my  own  poor  boy  ! 

Write  me  yes — you  will  be  glad  when  you  see 
her.  And  now  love  and  regards  to  Mrs.  Barry  and 
all  friends.  Tell  the  Worst  of  Managers  that  he 
knows  where  to  find  his  leading  juvenile  for  next 
season.  Think  how  funny  it  would  be  for  us  to 
play  together  next  year — we  havent  done  it  since 
'57 — the  third  year  we  were  married.  That  was 
my  first  season  higher  than  walking — and  now  I'm 
quite  an  old  woman — most  thirty  dear  ! 

Write  me  soon  a  letter  like  that  last  one — and 
send  a  kiss  to  Nina — our  Nina. 

Your  own  girl, 

MARY. 

P.  S.  He  has  not  worried  me  since. 


Nina  drew  this  herself  she  says  it  is  a  horse  so 
that  you  can  get  here  soon. 


54  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE  CASE. 

PART    THIRD: 

DOCUMENT    NO.   l6. 

Letter  from  Messrs.  Throstlethwaite,  Throstlethwaite 
and  Dick,  Solicitors,  Lincoln's  Inn,  London,  England, 
to  Messrs.  Hitchcock  and  Van  Rensselaer,  Attorneys 
and  Counsellors  at  Law,  *]6  Broadway,  New  York, 
U.  S.  A. 

January  8,   1879. 
Messrs.  HITCHCOCK  &  VAN  RENSSELAER  : 

GENTLEMEN  :  On  the  death  ot  our  late  client,  Sir 
William  Beauvoir,  Bart.,  and  after  the  reading  of 
the  deceased  gentleman's  will,  drawn  up  nearly 
forty  years  ago  by  our  Mr.  Dick,  we  were  request- 
ed by  Oliver  Beauvoir,  Esq.,  the  second  son  of  the 
late  Sir  William,  to  assist  him  in  discovering  and 
communicating  with  his  elder  brother,  the  present 
Sir  William  Beauvoir,  of  whose  domicile  we  have 
little  or  no  information. 

After  a  consultation  between  Mr.  Oliver  Beau- 
voir and  our  Mr.  Dick,  it  was  seen  that  the  sole 
knowledge  in  our  possession  amounted  substan- 
tially to  this  :  Thirty  years  ago  the  elder  son  of 
the  late  baronet,  after  indulging  in  dissipation  in 
every  possible  form,  much  to  the  sorrow  of  his  re- 
spected parent,  who  frequently  expressed  as  much 
to  our  Mr.  Dick,  disappeared,  leaving  behind  him 
bills  and  debts  of  all  descriptions,  which  we, 


THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE.  55 

under  instructions  from  Sir  William,  examined, 
audited  and  paid.  Sir  William  Beauvoir  would 
allow  no  search  to  be  made  for  his  erring  son  and 
would  listen  to  no  mention  of  his  name.  Current 
gossip  declared  that  he  had  gone  to  New  York, 
where  he  probably  arrived  about  midsummer, 
1848.  Mr.  Oliver  Beauvoir  thinks  that  he  crossed 
to  the  States  in  company  with  a  distinguished 
scientific  gentleman,  Professor  Titus  Peebles. 
Within  a  year  after  his  departure  news  came  that 
he  had  gone  to  California  with  Professor  Peebles  ; 
this  was  about  the  time  gold  was  discovered  in  the 
States.  That  the  present  Sir  William  Beauvoir 
did  about  this  time  actually  arrive  on  the  Pacific 
Coast  in  company  with  the  distinguished  scien- 
tific man  above  mentioned,  we  have  every  reason 
to  believe  :  we  have  even  direct  evidence  on  the 
subject.  A  former  junior  clerk  who  had  left  us  at 
about  the  same  period  as  the  disappearance  of  the 
elder  son  of  our  late  client,  accosted  our  Mr.  Dick 
when  the  latter  was  in  Paris  last  summer,  and  in- 
formed him  (our  Mr.  Dick)  that  he  (the  former 
junior  clerk)  was  now  a  resident  of  Nevada  and  a 
member  of  Congress  for  that  county,  and  in  the 
course  of  conversation  he  mentioned  that  he  had 
seen  Professor  Peebles  and  the  son  of  our  late 
client  in  San  Francisco,  nearly  thirty  years  ago. 
Otker  information  we  have  none.  It  ought  not  to 
be  difficult  to  discover  Professor  Peebles,  whose 
scientific  attainments  have  doubtless  ere  this  been 
duly  recognized  by  Ihe  U.  S.  government.  As 


56  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN    THE    CASE. 

our  late  client  leaves  the  valuable  family  estate  in 
Lancashire  to  his  elder  son  and  divides  the  re- 
mainder equally  between  his  two  sons,  you  will 
readily  see  why  we  invoke  your  assistance  in  dis- 
covering the  present  domicile  of  the  late  baronet's 
elder  son,  or  in  default  thereof,  in  placing  in  our 
hands  such  proof  of  his  death  as  may  be  necessary 
to  establish  that  lamentable  fact  in  our  probate 
court. 

We  have  the  honour  to  remain,  as  ever,  your 
most  humble  and  obedient  servants, 

THROSTLETHWAITE,  THROSTLETHWAITE.  &  DICK. 

P.  S.  Our  late  client's  grandson,  Mr.  William 
Beauvoir,  the  only  child  of  Oliver  Beauvoir,  Esq., 
is  now  in  the  States,  in  Chicago  or  Nebraska  or 
somewhere  in  the  West.  We  shall  be  pleased  if 
you  can  keep  him  informed  as  to  the  progress  of 
your  investigations.  Our  Mr.  Dick  has  requested 
Mr.  Oliver  Beauvoir  to  give  his  son  your  address, 
and  to  suggest  his  calling  on  you  as  he  passes 
through  New  York  on  his  way  home. 

T.  T.  &  D. 


DOCUMENT    NO.    17. 

Letter  from  Messrs.  Hitchcock  and  Van  Rensselaer, 
New  York,  to  Messrs.  Pixley  and  Sutton,  Attorneys  and 
Counsellors  at  Law,  98  California  Street,  San  Francisco, 
California. 


THE  DOCtrMENTS  IN    THE    CASE.  57 

(Sffucs  jof  Jpitcljtoth  &  $au  |*xcn$sehur, 


Jan.  22,   1879. 

Messrs.  PIXLEY  AND  SUTTON  : 

GENTLEMEN  :  We  have  just  received  from  our 
London  correspondents,  Messrs.  Throstlethwaite, 
Throstlethwaite  and  Dick,  of  Lincoln's  Inn,  Lon- 
don, the  letter,  a  copy  of  which  is  herewith  enclosed, 
to  which  we  invite  your  attention.  We  request  that 
you  will  do  all  in  your  power  to  aid  us  in  the 
search  for  the  missing  Englishman.  From  the  let- 
ter of  Messrs.  Throstlethwaite,  Throstlethwaite  and 
Dick,  it  seems  extremely  probable,  not  to  say  cer- 
tain, that  Mr.  Beauvoir  arrived  in  your  city  about 
1849,  in  company  with  a  distinguished  English 
scientist,  Professor  Titus  Peebles,  whose  profes- 
sional attainments  were  such  that  he  is  probably 
well  known,  if  not  in  California,  at  least  in  some 
other  of  the  mining  States.  The  first  thing  to  be 
done,  therefore,  it  seems  to  us,  is  to  ascertain  the 
whereabouts  of  the  professor,  and  to  interview 
him  at  once.  It  may  be  that  he  has  no  knowledge 
of  the  present  domicile  of  Mr.  William  Beauvoir  — 
in  which  case  we  shall  rely  on  you  to  take  such 
steps  as,  in  your  judgment,  will  best  conduce  to  a 
satisfactory  solution  of  the  mystery.  In  any 
event,  please  look  up  Professor  Peebles,  and  in- 
terview him  at  once. 

Pray  keep  us  fully  informed  by  telegraph  of 
your  movements.  Yr  obt  serv'ts, 

HITCHCOCK  &  VAN  RENSSELAER. 


58  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE. 

DOCUMENT    NO.   1 8. 

Telegram  from  Messrs.  Pixley  and  Sutton,  Attorneys 
and  Counsellors  at  Law,  <?<?  California  Street,  San 
Francisco,  California,  to  Messrs.  Hitchcock  and  Van 
Rensselaer,  Attorneys  and  Counsellors  at  Law,  j6 
Broadway^  New  York. 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL., 

Jan.  30. 

Tite  Peebles  well  known  frisco  not  professor 
keeps  faro  bank. 

PIXLEY  &  SUTTON. 
(D.  H.  919.) 

DOCUMENT    NO.   19. 

Telegram  from  Messrs.  Hitchcock  and  Van  Rensselaer 
TO  Messrs.  Pixley  and  Sutton,  in  answer  to  the  preceding. 

NEW  YORK,  Jan.  30. 

Must  be  mistake  Titus  Peebles  distinguished 
scientist. 

HITCHCOCK  &  VAN  RENSSELAER. 
(Free.     Answer  to  D.  H.) 

DOCUMENT    NO.  2O. 

Telegram  from  Messrs.  Pixley  and  Sutton  to  Messrs. 
Hitchcock  and  Van  Rensselaer.  in  reply  to  the  preceding. 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL., 

Jan.  30. 

No  mistake  distinguished  faro  banker  suspected 
skin  game  shall  we  interview 

PIXLEY  &    SUTTON. 
(D.  H.  919.) 


THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE.  59 

DOCUMENT    NO.    21. 

Telegram  from  Messrs.  Hitchcock  and  Van  Rensselaer 
to  Messrs.  Pixley  and  Sutton,  in  reply  to  the  preceding. 

NEW  YORK,  Jan.  30. 
Must  be  mistake  interview  anyway 

HITCHCOCK  &  VAN  RENSSELAER. 
(Free.     Answer  to  D.  H.) 

DOCUMENT    NO.    22. 

Telegram  from  Messrs.  Pixley  and  Sutton  to  Messrs. 
Hitchcock  and  Van  Renssclaer,  in  reply  to  the  preceding 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL., 

Jan.  30. 
Peebles  out  of  town  have  written  him 

PIXLEY  &  SUTTON. 
(D.  H.  919.) 

DOCUMENT    NO.  23. 

Letter  from  Tite  W.  Peebles,  delegate  to  the  Califor- 
nia Constitutional  Convention,  Sacramento,  to  Messrs. 
Pixley  and  Sutton,  98  California  Street,  San  Francisco, 
California. 

SACRAMENTO,  Feb.  2,  '79. 
Messrs.  PIXLEY  &  SUTTON  : 
San  Francisco. 

GENTLEMEN  :  Your  favor  of  the  3ist  ult.,  for- 
warded me  from  San  Francisco,  has  been  duly 
rec'd,  and  contents  thereof  noted. 

My  time  is  at  present  so  fully  occupied  by  my 


60  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE. 

duties  as  a  delegate  to  the  Constitutional  Conven- 
tion that  I  can  only  jot  down  a  brief  report  of  my 
recollections  on  this  head.  When  I  return  to 
S.  F.,  I  shall  be  happy  to  give  you  any  further  in- 
formation that  may  be  in  my  possession. 

The  person  concerning  whom  you  inquire  was 
my  fellow  passenger  on  my  first  voyage  to  this 
State  on  board  the  Mercy  G.  Tarbox,  in  the  latter 
part  of  the  year.  He  was  then  known  as  Mr.  Will- 
iam Beauvoir.  I  was  acquainted  with  his  history, 
of  which  the  details  escape  me  at  this  writing. 
He  was  a  countryman  of  mine  ;  a  member  of  an 
important  county  family  —  Devonian,  I  believe  — 
and  had  left  England  on  account  of  large  gam- 
bling debts,  of  which  he  confided  to  me  the  exact 
figure.  I  believe  they  totted  up  something  like 


I  had  at  no  time  a  very  intimate  acquaintance 
with  Mr.  Beauvoir  ;  during  our  sojourn  on  the 
Tarbox,  he  was  the  chosen  associate  of  a  depraved 
and  vicious  character  named  Phoenix.  I  am  not 
averse  from  saying  that  I  was  then  a  member  of  a 
profession  rather  different  to  my  present  one, 
being,  in  fact,  professor  of  metallurgy,  and  I  saw 
much  less,  at  that  period,  of  Mr.  B.  than  I  prob- 
ably should  now. 

Directly  we  landed  at  S.  F.,  the  object  of  your 
inquiries  set  out  for  the  gold  region,  without  ade- 
quate preparation,  like  so  many  others  did  at  that 
time,  and,  I  heard,  fared  very  ill. 

I  encountered  him  some   six  months   later  ;    I 


THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE    CASE.  61 

have  forgotten  precisely  in  what  locality,  though  I 
have  a  faint  impression  that  his  then  habitat  was 
some  canon  or  ravine,  deriving  its  name  from  cer- 
tain osseous  deposits.  Here  he  had  engaged  in 
the  business  of  gold-mining,  without,  perhaps, 
sufficient  grounds  for  any  confident  hope  of  ulti- 
mate success.  I  have  his  I.O.U.  for  the  amount 
of  my  fee  for  assaying  several  specimens  from  his 
claim,  said  specimens  being  all  iron  pyrites. 

This  is  all  I  am  able  to  call  to  mind  at  present 
in  the  matter  of  Mr.  Beauvoir.  I  trust  his  subse- 
quent career  was  of  a  nature  better  calculated  to 
be  satisfactory  to  himself  ;  but  his  mineralogical 
knowledge  was  but  superficial  ;  and  his  character 
was  sadly  deformed  by  a  fatal  taste  for  low  asso- 
ciates. 

I  remain,  gentlemen,  your  very  humble  and 
obd't  servant,  TITUS  W.  PEEBLES. 

P.  S.— Private. 

MY  DEAR  Pix  :  If  you  don't  feel  inclined  to 
pony  up  that  little  sum  you  are  out  on  the  bay 
gelding,  drop  down  to  my  place  when  I  get  back 
and  I'll  give  you  another  chance  for  your  life  at 
the  pasteboards.  Constitution  going  through. 

Yours,  TITE. 


62  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE. 


PART    FOURTH: 

DOCUMENT  NO.   24. 

Extract  from  the  New  Centreville  \late  Dead  Horse] 
"  Gazette  and Courier  of  Civilization"  December  2Oth, 
1 8-]  8: 

"  Miss  Nina  Saville  appeared  last  night  at  the  Mendocino 
Grand  Opera  House,  in  her  unrivalled  specialty  of  Winona, 
the  Child  of  the  Prairies  ;  supported  by  Tompkins  and  Fro- 
bisher's  Grand  Stellar  Constellation.  Although  Miss  Saville 
has  long  been  known  as  one  of  the  most  promising  of  Califor- 
nia's younger  tragediennes,  we  feel  safe  in  saying  that  the  im- 
pression she  produced  upon  the  large  and  cultured  audience 
gathered  to  greet  her  last  night  stamped  her  as  one  of  the 
greatest  and  most  phenomenal  geniuses  of  our  own  or  other 
times.  Her  marvellous  beauty  of  form  and  feature,  added  to 
her  wonderful  artistic  power,  and  her  perfect  mastery  of  the  dif- 
ficult science  of  clog-dancing,  won  her  an  immediate  place  in 
the  hearts  of  our  citizens,  and  confirmed  the  belief  that  Califor- 
nia need  no  longer  look  to  Europe  or  Chicago  for  dramatic 
talent  of  the  highest  order.  The  sylph-like  beauty,  the  harmo- 
nious and  ever-varying  grace,  the  vivacity  and  the  power  of  the 
yonng  artist  who  made  her  maiden  effort  among  us  last  night, 
prove  conclusively  that  the  virgin  soil  of  California  teems  with 
yet  undiscovered  fires  of  genius.  The  drama  of  Winona,  the 
Child  of  the  Prairies,  is  a  pure,  refined,  and  thoroughly  absorb- 
ing entertainment,  and  has  been  pronounced  by  the  entire 
press  of  the  country  equal  to  if  not  superior  to  the  fascinating 
Lady  of  Lyons.  It  introduces  all  the  favorites  of  the  company 
in  new  and  original  characters,  and  with  its  original  music, 
which  is  a  prominent  feature,  has  already  received  over  200  rep- 


THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE.  63 

resentations  in  the  principal  cities  in  the  country.  It  abounds 
in  effective  situations,  striking  tableaux,  and  a  most  quaint  and 
original  concert  entitled  '  The  Mule  Fling,'  which  alone  is  worth 
the  price  of  admission.  As  this  is  its  first  presentation  in  this 
city,  the  theatre  will  no  doubt  be  crowded,  and  seats  should  be 
secured  early  in  the  day.  The  drama  will  be  preceded  by  that 
prince  of  humorists,  Mr.  Billy  Barker,  in  his  humorous  sketches 
and  pictures  from  life." 

We  quote  the  above  from  our  esteemed  contem- 
porary, the  Mendocino  Gazette^  at  the  request 
of  Mr.  Zeke  Kilburn,  Miss  Saville's  advance  agent, 
who  has  still  further  appealed  to  us,  not  only  on  the 
ground  of  our  common  humanity,  but  as  the  only 
appreciative  and  thoroughly  informed  critics  on 
the  Pacific  Slope  to  "  endorse"  this  rather  vivid 
expression  of  opinion.  Nothing  will  give  us 
greater  pleasure.  Allowing  for  the  habitual  en- 
thusiasm of  our  northern  neighbor,  and  for  the 
well-known  chaste  aridity  of  Mendocino  in  respect 
of  female  beauty,  we  have  no  doubt  that  Miss  Nina 
Saville  is  all  that  the  fancy,  peculiarly  opulent  and 
active  even  for  an  advance  agent,  of  Mr.  Kilburn 
has  painted  her,  and  is  quite  such  a  vision  of 
youth,  beauty,  and  artistic  phenomenality  as  will 
make  the  stars  of  Paris  and  Illinois  pale  their  in- 
effectual fires. 

Miss  Saville  will  appear  in  her  "  unrivalled 
specialty"  at  Hanks's  New  Centreville  Opera 
House,  to-morrow  night,  as  may  be  gathered,  in  a 
general  way,  from  an  advertisement  in  another 
column. 


64  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE. 

We  should  not  omit  to  mention  that  Mr.  Zeke 
Kilburn,  Miss  Saville's  advance  agent,  is  a  gentle- 
man of  imposing  presence,  elegant  manners,  and 
complete  knowledge  of  his  business.  This  infor- 
mation may  be  relied  upon  as  at  least  authentic, 
having  been  derived  from  Mr.  Kilburn  himself,  to 
which  we  can  add,  as  our  own  contribution,  the 
statement  that  Mr.  Kilburn  is  a  gentleman  of 
marked  liberality  in  his  ideas  of  spirituous  refresh- 
ments, and  of  equal  originality  in  his  conception 
of  the  uses,  objects  and  personal  susceptibilities 
of  the  journalistic  profession. 


DOCUMENT  NO.  25. 

Local  item  from  the  "New  Centreville  Standard" 
December  2Oth,  1878 ; 

Hon.  William  Beauvoir  has  registered  at  the 
United  States  Hotel.  Mr.  Beauvoir  is  a  young 
English  gentleman  of  great  wealth,  now  engaged 
in  investigating  the  gigantic  resources  of  this 
great  country.  We  welcome  him  to  New  Centre- 
ville. 


DOCUMENT  NO.   26. 

Programme  of  the  performance  given  in  the  Centre- 
rilie  Theatre,  Dec.  21 st,  1878 : 


HANKS'  NEW  CENTREY1LLE  OPERA  HOUSE 

A.  Jackson   Hanks Sole  Proprietor  and  Manager. 

FIRST  APPEARANCE  IN  THIS  CITY  OF 

TOMPKINS  &  FROBISHER'S 
GRAND  STELLAR  CONSTELLATION, 

Supporting  California's  favorite  daughter,  the  young  American  Tragedienne, 

MISS   NINA    SAVILLE, 

Who  will  appear  in 
Her    "Unrivalled.    Specialty, 

"  Winona,  the  Child  of  the   Prairie." 

THIS  EVENING,  DECEMBER  2ist,  1878, 

Will  be  presented,  with  the  following  phenomenal  cast,  the  accepted 
American  Drama, 

WINONA: 

THE     CHILD     OF     THE     PRAIRIE. 

WINONA 

Miss  FLORA    MAcMADISON 

BIDDY  FLAHERTY 

OLD  AUNT  DINAH  (with  Song,  "  Don't  Get  Weary") 


Miss  NINA 
SAVILLE. 


SALLY  HOSKINS 

(With  the  old-time  melody,  "  Bobbin'  Around.") 

POOR  JOE(with  Song) 

FRAULINE  LINA  BOOBENSTEIN 

(With  stammering  song,  "  I  yoost  landet.") 

SIR  EDMOND  BENNETT  (specially  engaged) E.  C.  GRAINGER 

WALTON   TRAVERS G.  W.  PARSONS 

GIPSY  JOE M.  ISAACS 

'ANNIBAL  'GRACE  'IGGINS BILLY  BARKER 

TOMMY  TIPPER Miss  MAMIE  SMITH 

PETE,  the  Man  on  the  Dock SI  HANCOCK 

Mrs.  MALONE,  the  Old  Woman  in  the  Little  House. ..  Mrs.  K.  Y.  BOOTH 
ROBERT  BENNETT  (aged  five) Little  ANNIE  WATSON 

Act  I.— The  Old  Home.  Act  II.— Alone  in  the  World. 

Act  III.— The  Frozen  Gulf: 

THE    GREAT    ICEBERG    SENSATION. 

Act  IV.— Wedding  Bells. 

"  Winona,  the  Child  of  the  Prairie,"  will  be  preceded  by 

A    FAVORITE    FARCE, 

In  which  the  great  BILLY  BARKER  will  appear  in  one  of  his  most 
outrageously  funny  bits. 

New  Scenery by Q.  Z.  Slocum 

Music  by  Professor  Kiddoo's  Silver  Bugle  Brass  Band  and 
Philharmonic   Orchestra. 

Chickway's  Grand  Piano,  lent  by  Schmidt,  2  Opera  House  Block. 
AFTER  THE  SHOW,        GO  TO  HANKS'          AND  SEE  A  MAN! 

Pop  Williams,  the  only  legitimate  Bill-Poster  in  New  Centreville. 
(New  Centreville  Standard  Print.) 


66  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE. 

DOCUMENT  NO.   27. 

Extract  from  the  New  Centreville  [late  Dead  Horse\ 
"  Gazette  and  Courier  of  Civilization"  Dec.  24th,  i8-]8 : 

A  little  while  ago,  in  noting  the  arrival  of  Miss 
Nina  Saville  of  the  New  Centreville  Opera  House, 
we  quoted  rather  extensively  from  our  esteemed 
contemporary,  the  Mendocino  Times  and  com- 
mented upon  the  quotation.  Shortly  afterwards,  it 
may  also  be  remembered,  we  made  a  very  direct 
and  decided  apology  for  the  sceptical  levity  which 
inspired  those  remarks,  and  expressed  our  hearty 
sympathy  with  the  honest,  if  somewhat  effusive, 
enthusiasm  with  which  the  dramatic  critic  of 
Mendocino  greeted  the  sweet  and  dainty  little  girl 
who  threw  over  the  dull,  weary  old  business  of 
the  stage  "  sensation"  the  charm  of  a  fresh  and 
childlike  beauty  and  originality,  as  rare  and  deli- 
cate as  those  strange,  unreasonable  little  glimmers 
of  spring  sunsets  that  now  and  then  light  up  for  a 
brief  moment  the  dull  skies  of  winter  evenings, 
and  seem  to  have  strayed  into  ungrateful  January 
out  of  sheer  pity  for  the  sad  earth. 

Mendocino  noticed  the  facts  that  form  the  basis 
of  the  above  meteorological  simile,  and  we  believe 
we  gave  Mendocino  full  credit  for  it  at  the  time. 
We  refer  to  the  matter  at  this  date  only  because 
in  our  remarks  of  a  few  days  ago  we  had  occasion  to 
mention  the  fact  of  the  existence  of  Mr.  Zeke  Kil- 
burn,  an  advance  agent,  who  called  upon  us  at  the 
time,  to  endeavor  to  induce  us,  by  means  appar- 


THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE.  67 

ently  calculated  more  closely  for  the  latitude  of 
Mendocino,  to  extend  to  Miss  Saville,  before  her 
appearance,  the  critical  approbation  which  we 
gladly  extended  after.  This  little  item  of  interest 
we  alluded  to  at  the  time,  and  furthermore  inti- 
mated, with  some  vagueness,  that  there  existed  in 
Mr.  Kilburn's  character  a  certain  misdirected  zeal 
which,  combined  with  a  too  keen  artistic  apprecia- 
tion, are  apt  to  be  rather  dangerous  stock-in-trade 
for  an  advance  agent. 

It  was  twenty- seven  minutes  past  two  o'clock 
yesterday  afternoon.  The  chaste  white  mystery 
of  Shigo  Mountain  was  already  taking  on  a  faint, 
almost  imperceptible,  hint  of  pink,  like  the  warm 
cheek  of  a  girl  who  hears  a  voice  and  anticipates  a 
blush.  Yet  the  rays  of  the  afternoon  sun  rested 
with  undiminished  radiance  on  the  empty  pork- 
barrel  in  front  of  McMullin's  shebang.  A  small 
and  vagrant  infant,  whose  associations  with  empty 
barrels  were  doubtless  hitherto  connected  solely 
with  dreams  of  saccharine  dissipation,  approached 
the  bunghole  with  precocious  caution,  and  retired 
with  celerity  and  a  certain  acquisition  of  experi- 
ence. An  unattached  goat,  a  martyr  to  the  radi- 
cal theory  of  personal  investigation,  followed  in 
the  footsteps  of  infantile  humanity,  retired  with 
even  greater  promptitude,  and  was  fain  to  stay  its 
stomach  on  a  presumably  empty  rend-rock  can, 
afterward  going  into  seclusion  behind  McMullin's 
horse-shed,  before  the  diuretic  effect  of  tin  flavored 


68  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN    THE    CASE. 

with  blasting-powder  could  be  observed  by  the  at- 
tentive eye  of  science. 

Mr.  Kilburn  emerged  from  the  hostlery  of 
McMullin.  Mr.  Kilburn,  as  we  have  before  stated 
at  his  own  request,  is  a  gentleman  of  imposing 
presence.  It  is  well  that  we  made  this  statement 
when  we  did,  for  it  is  hard  to  judge  of  the  impos- 
ing quality  in  a  gentleman's  presence  when  that 
gentleman  is  suspended  from  the  arm  of  another 
gentleman  by  the  collar  of  the  first  gentleman's 
coat.  The  gentleman  in  the  rear  of  Mr.  Kilburn 
was  Mr.  William  Beauvoir,  a  young  Englishman 
in  a  check  suit.  Mr.  Beauvoir  is  not  avowedly  a 
man  of  imposing  presence  ;  he  wears  a  seal  ring, 
and  he  is  generally  a  scion  of  an  effete  oligarchy, 
but  he  has,  since  his  introduction  into  this  com- 
munity, behaved  himself,  to  use  the  adjectivial  ad- 
verb of  Mr.  McMullin,  white,  and  he  has  a  very  re- 
markable biceps.  These  qualities  may  hereafter 
enhance  his  popularity  in  New  Centreville. 

Mr.  Beauvoir's  movements,  at  twenty-seven 
minutes  past  two  yesterday  afternoon,  were  few 
and  simple.  He  doubled  Mr.  Kilburn  up,  after 
the  fashion  of  an  ordinary  jack-knife,  and  placed 
him  in  the  barrel,  wedge-extremity  first,  remark- 
ing, as  he  did  so,  "She  is,  is  she?"  He  then 
rammed  Mr.  Kilburn  carefully  home,  and  put  the 
cover  on. 

We  learn  to-day  that  Mr.  Kilburn  has  resumed 
his  professional  duties  on  the  road. 


THE  DOCUMENTS  IN    THE    CASE.  69 

DOCUMENT    NO.    28. 

Account  of  the  same  event  from  the  New  Centreville 
"  Standard"  December  24th,  18*] 8 : 

It  seems  strange  that  even  the  holy  influences 
which  radiate  from  this  joyous  season  cannot  keep 
some  men  from  getting  into  unseemly  wrangles.  It 
was  only  yesterday  that  our  local  saw  a  street  row 
here  in  the  quiet  avenues  of  our  peaceful  city — a 
street  row  recalling  the  riotous  scenes  which  took 
place  here  before  Dead  Horse  experienced  a  change 
of  heart  and  became  New  Centreville.  Our  local 
succeeded  in  gathering  all  the  particulars  of  the 
affray,  and  the  following  statement  is  reliable.  It 
seems  that  Mr.  Kilburn,  the  gentlemanly  and  affable 
advance  agent  of  the  Nina  Saville  Dramatic  Co*  *. 
pany,  now  performing  at  Andy  Hanks'  Opera 
House  to  big  houses,  was  brutally  assaulted  by  a 
ruffianly  young  Englishman,  named  Beauvoir,  for 
no  cause  whatever.  We  say  for  no  cause,  as  it 
is  obvious  that  Mr.  Kilburn,  as  the  agent  of  the 
troupe,  could  have  said  nothing  against  Miss 
Saville  which  an  outsider,  not  to  say  a  foreigner 
like  Mr.  Beauvoir,  had  any  call  to  resent.  Mr. 
Kilburn  is  a  gentleman  unaccustomed  to  rough- 
and-tumble  encounters,  while  his  adversary  has 
doubtless  associated  more  with  pugilists  than  gen- 
tlemen— at  least  any  one  would  think  so  from  his 
actions  yesterday.  Beauvoir  hustled  Mr.  Kilburn 
out  of  Mr.  McMullin's,  where  the  unprovoked  as- 
sault began,  and  violently  shook  him  across  the 


70  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN    THE    CASE. 

new  plank  sidewalk.  The  person  by  the  name  of 
Clark,  whom  Judge  Jones  for  some  reason  now 
permits  to  edit  the  moribund  but  once  respect- 
able Gazette,  caught  the  eye  of  the  congenial 
Beauvoir,  and,  true  to  the  ungentlemanly  instincts 
of  his  base  nature,  pointed  to  a  barrel  in  the  street. 
The  brutal  Englishman  took  the  hint  and  thrust 
Mr.  Kilburn  forcibly  into  the  barrel,  leaving  the 
vicinity  before  Mr.  Kilburn,  emerging  from  his 
close  quarters,  had  fully  recovered.  What  the 
ruffianly  Beauvoir's  motive  may  have  been  for  this 
wanton  assault  it  is  impossible  to  say  ;  but  it  is 
obvious  to  all  why  this  fellow  Clark  sought  to  in- 
jure Mr.  Kilburn,  a  gentleman  whose  many  good 
qualities  he  of  course  fails  to  appreciate.  Mr.  Kil- 
burn, recognizing  the  acknowledged  merits  of  our 
job-office,  had  given  us  the  contract  for  all  the 
printing  he  needed  in  New  Centreville. 

DOCUMENT    NO.    29. 

Advertisement  from  the  New  York  "Clipper"  Dec. 
2 1st,  1818 : 

WINSTON    &    MACK'S 

GRAND    INTERNATIONAL 

MEGATHERIUM  VARIETY  COMRINATION. 

COMPANY    CALL. 

Ladies  and  Gentlemen  of  the  Company  will  assemble  for  rehearsal,  at  Emer- 
son s  Opera  House,  San  Francisco,  on  Wednesday,  Dec.  27th,  12  M.  sharp. 
Band  at  ii.  J.  B.  WINSTON,  K/r 

EDWIN    R.   MACK,fManaSers> 
tmerson  s  Opera  House, 

San  Francisco,  Dec.  loth,  1878. 

Protean  Artist  wanted.     Would  like  to  hear  from  Nina  Saville. 
12— it*. 


THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE.  Jl 

DOCUMENT    NO.    30. 

Letter  from  Nina  Saville  to  William  Beauvoir. 

NEW  CENTREVILLE,  December  26,  1878. 
MY  DEAR  MR.  BEAUVOIR — I  was  very  sorry  to 
receive  your  letter  of  yesterday  —  very  sorry — 
because  there  can  be  only  one  answer  that  I  can 
make — and  you  might  well  have  spared  me  the 
pain  of  saying  the  word — No.  You  ask  me  if  I  love 
you.  If  I  did — do  you  think  it  would  be  true 
love  in  me  to  tell  you  so,  when  I  know  what  it 
would  cost  you  ?  Oh  indeed  you  must  never 
marry  me !  In  your  own  country  you  would 
never  have  heard  of  me — never  seen  me — surely 
never  written  me  such  a  letter  to  tell  me  that  you 
love  me  and  want  to  marry  me.  It  is  not  that  I 
am  ashamed  of  my  business  or  of  the  folks  around 
me,  or  ashamed  that  I  am  only  the  charity  child 
of  two  poor  players,  who  lived  and  died  working 
for  the  bread  for  their  mouths  and  mine.  I  am 
proud  of  them — yes,  proud  of  what  they  did  and 
suffered  for  one  poorer  than  themselves — a  little 
foundling  out  of  an  Indian  camp.  But  I  know 
the  difference  between  you  and  me.  You  are  a 
great  man  at  home — you  have  never  told  me  how 
great — but  I  know  your  father  is  a  rich  lord,  and  I 
suppose  you  are.  It  is  not  that  I  think  you  care 
for  that,  or  think  less  of  me  because  I  was  born 
different  from  you.  I  know  how  good — how 
kind — how  respectful  you  have  always  been  to 
me — my  lord — and  I  shall  never  forget  it— for  a  girl 


72  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE. 

in  my  position  knows  well  enough  how  you  might 
have  been  otherwise.  Oh  believe  me — my  true 
friend — I  am  never  going  to  forget  all  you  have 
done  for  me — and  how  good  it  has  been  to  have 
you  near  me — a  man  so  different  from  most  others. 
I  don't  mean  only  the  kind  things  you  have 
done — the  books  and  the  thoughts  and  the  ways 
you  have  taught  me  to  enjoy — and  all  the  trouble 
you  have  taken  to  make  me  something  better  than 
the  stupid  little  girl  I  was  when  you  found  me — 
but  a  great  deal  more  than  that — the  consideration 
you  have  had  for  me  and  for  what  I  hold  best  in  the 
world.  I  had  never  met  a  gentleman  before — and 
now  the  first  one  I  meet — he  is  my  friend.  That  is 
a  great  deal. 

Only  think  of  it  !  You  have  been  following  me 
around  now  for  three  months,  and  I  have  been 
weak  enough  to  allow  it.  I  am  going  to  do  the 
right  thing  now.  You  may  think  it  hard  in  me  if 
you  really  mean  what  you  say,  but  even  if  everything 
else  were  right,  I  would  not  marry  you — because 
of  your  rank.  I  do  not  know  how  things  are  at 
your  home — but  something  tells  me  it  would  be 
wrong  and  that  your  family  would  have  a  right  to 
hate  you  and  never  forgive  you.  Professionals 
cannot  go  in  your  society.  And  that  is  even  if  I 
loved  you— and  I  do  not  love  you— I  do  not  love 
you — /  do  not  love  you — now  I  have  written  it  you 
will  believe  it. 

So  now  it  is  ended— I  am  going  back  to  the  line 
I  was  first  in— variety— and  with  a  new  name.  So 


THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE.  73 

you  can  never  find  me — I  entreat  you — I  beg  of 
you — not  to  look  for  me.  If  you  only  put  your 
mind  to  it — you  will  find  it  so  easy  to  forget  me — 
for  I  will  not  do  you  the  wrong  to  think  that  you 
did  not  mean  what  you  wrote  in  your  letter  or 
what  you  said  that  night  when  we  sang  Annie 
Laurie  together  the  last  time. 

Your  sincere  friend, 

NINA. 

DOCUMENTS  NOS.  3!  AND  32. 

Items  from  San  Francisco  ' '  Figaro ' '  of  December 
2$th,  1818  : 

Nina  Saville  Co.  disbanded  New  Centreville 
26th.  No  particulars  received. 

Winston  &  Mack's  Comb,  takes  the  road  Decem- 
ber 3ist,  opening  at  Tuolumne  Hollow.  Manager 
Winston  announces  the  engagement  of  Anna 
Laurie,  the  Protean  change  artiste,  with  songs, 
"Don't  Get  Weary,"  "Bobbin'  Around,"  "I 
Yoost  Landet." 

DOCUMENT    NO.    33. 

Telegram  from  Zeke  Kilburn,  New  Centreville,  to 
Winston  and  Mack,  Emerson  s  Opera  House,  San 
Francisco,  Cal.  : 

NEW  CENTREVILLE,  Dec.  28,  1878. 
Have  you  vacancy  for  active  and  energetic  ad- 
vance agent.  Z.  KILBURN. 

(9  words  30  paid.) 


74  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE. 

DOCUMENT    NO.    34. 

Telegram  from   Winston  and  Mack,  San  Francisco, 
to  Zeke  Kilburn,  New  Centreville  : 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  Dec.  28,  1878. 
No. 

WINSTON  &    MACK. 
(Collect  30  cents.) 

DOCUMENT    NO.    35. 

Bill  sent  to  William  Beauvoir,  United  States  Hotel, 
Tuolumne  Hollow,  Cal.  : 

Tuolumne  Hollow,  Cal.,  Dec.  29,  1878. 
Wm.  Beauvoir,  Esq. 

Bought  of   HIMMEL  &    HATCH, 

Opera  House  Block, 

JEWELLERS  &  DIAMOND  MERCHANTS, 

Dealers  in  all  kinds  of  Fancy  Goods,   Stationery  and  Umbrellas,  Watches, 
Clocks  and  Barometers. 

TERMS   CASH.  MUSICAL   BOXES   REPAIRED. 

Dec,  29,   One  diamond  and  enamelled  locket $75.00 

One  gold  chain 48.00 


$123.00 
Ree'd  Payt. 

Himmei  &*  Hatch, 
per  S. 


THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE    CASE.  75 


PART    FIFTH: 

DOCUMENT    NO.    36. 

Letter  from  Cable  J.  Dexter,  Esq.,  to  Messrs.  Pixley 
and  Sutton,  San  Francisco  : 

NEW  CENTREVILLE,  CAL.,  March  3,  1879. 
Messrs.  PIXLEY  &  BUTTON  : 

GENTS  :  I  am  happy  to  report  that  I  have  at  last 
reached  the  bottom  level  in  the  case  of  William 
Beaver,  alias  Beaver  Bill,  deceased  through  Indians 
in  1861. 

In  accordance  with  your  instructions  and  check, 
I  proceeded,  on  the  loth  ult.,  to  Shawgum  Creek, 
when  I  interviewed  Blue  Horse,  chief  of  the  Coman- 
ches,  who  tomahawked  subject  of  your  inquiries 
in  the  year  above  mentioned.  Found  the  Horse 
in  the  penitentiary,  serving  out  a  drunk  and  disor- 
derly. Though  belligerent  at  date  aforesaid, 
Horse  is  now  tame,  though  intemperate.  Appear- 
ed unwilling  to  converse,  and  required  stimulants 
to  awaken  his  memory.  Please  find  enclosed 
memo,  of  account  for  whiskey,  covering  extra 
demijohn  to  corrupt  jailer.  Horse  finally  stated 
that  he  personally  let  daylight  through  deceased, 
and  is  willing  to  guarantee  thoroughness  of  de- 
cease. Stated  further  that  aforesaid  Beaver's 
family  consisted  of  squaw  and  kid.  Is  willing  to 
swear  that  squaw  was  killed,  the  tribe  having  no 


76  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE. 

use  for  her.  Killing  done  by  Mule-Who-Goes- 
Crooked,  personal  friend  of  Horse's.  The  minor 
child  was  taken  into  camp  and  kept  until  Decem- 
ber of  1863,  when  tribe  dropped  to  howling  cold 
winter  and  went  on  government  reservation.  In- 
fant (female)  was  then  turned  over  to  U.  S.  Gov- 
ernment at  Fort  Kearney. 

I  posted  to  last  named  locality  on  the  i8th  ult., 
and  found  by  the  quartermaster's  books  that,  no 
one  appearing  to  claim  the  kid,  she  had  been  duly 
indentured,  together  with  six  Indians,  to  a  man 
by  the  name  of  Guardine  or  Sardine  (probably  the 
latter),  in  the  show  business.  The  Indians  were 
invoiced  as  Sage  Brush  Jimmy,  Boiling  Hurricane 
Mule-Who-Goes-Crooked,  Joe,  Hairy  Grasshopper 
and  Dead  Polecat.  Child  known  as  White  Kit- 
ten. Receipt  for  Indians  was  signed  by  Mr.  Hi. 
Samuels,  who  is  still  in  the  circus  business,  and 
whom  I  happen  to  be  selling  out  at  this  moment, 
at  suit  of  McCullum  &  Montmorency,  former  part- 
ners. Samuels  positively  identified  kid  with  va- 
riety specialist  by  name  of  Nina  Saville,  who  has 
been  showing  all  through  this  region  for  a  year 
past. 

I  shall  soon  have  the  pleasure  of  laying  before 
you  documents  to  establish  the  complete  chain  of 
evidence,  from  knifing  of  original  subject  of  your 
inquiries  right  up  to  date. 

I  have  to-day  returned  from  New  Centreville, 
whither  I  went  after  Miss  Saville.  Found  she  had 
just  skipped  the  town  with  a  young  Englishman 


THE  DOCUMENTS  IN    THE    CASE.  77 

by  the  name  of  Bovoir,  who  had  been  paying  her 
polite  attentions  for  some  time,  having  bowied  or 
otherwise  squekhed  a  man  for  her  within  a  week 
or  two.  It  appears  the  young  woman  had  refused 
to  have  anything  to  do  with  him  for  a  long 
period;  but  he  seems  to  have  struck  pay  gravel 
about  two  days  before  my  arrival.  At  present, 
therefore,  the  trail  is  temporarily  lost  ;  but  I  ex- 
pect to  fetch  the  couple  if  they  are  anywhere  this 
side  of  the  Rockies. 

Awaiting   your    further    instructions,  and   cash 
backing  thereto,  I  am,  gents,  very  resp'y  yours, 

CABLE   J.  DEXTER. 


DOCUMENT    NO.    37. 

Envelope  of  letter  from  Sir  Oliver  Beauvoir,  Bart., 
to  his  son,  William  Beauvoir  : 


Sent  to  Dead  Letter  Office 


Mr.    William  Beauvoir 

Sherman  House  Hotel 

not  here  Chicago 

try  Brevoort  House 

N.  y.  United  States  of  America 


7  8  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE. 

DOCUMENT    NO.    38. 

Letter  contained  in  the  envelope  above  : 

CHELSWORTH  COTTAGE,  March  30,  1879. 

MY  DEAR  BOY  :  In  the  sudden  blow  which  has 
come  upon  us  all  I  cannot  find  words  to  write. 
You  do  not  know  what  you  have  done.  Your 
uncle  William,  after  whom  you  were  named,  died 
in  America.  He  left  but  one  child,  a  daughter, 
the  only  grandchild  of  my  father  except  you. 
And  this  daughter  is  the  Miss  Nina  Saville  with 
whom  you  have  formed  so  unhappy  a  connection. 
She  is  your  own  cousin.  She  is  a  Beauvoir.  She 
is  of  our  blood,  as  good  as  any  in  England. 

My  feelings  are  overpowering.  I  am  choked  by 
the  suddenness  of  this  great  grief.  I  cannot  write 
to  you  as  I  would.  But  I  can  say  this  :  Do  not 
let  me  see  you  or  hear  from  until  this  stain  be 
taken  from  our  name. 

OLIVER   BEAUVOIR. 


DOCUMENT   NO.    39. 

Cable  dispatch  of  William  Beauvoir,  Windsor  Hotel, 
New  York,  to  Sir  Oliver  Beauvoir,  Bart.,  Chehworth 
Cottage,  Suffolk,  England: 

NEW  YORK,  May  i,  1879. 
Have  posted  you  Herald. 

WILLIAM  BEAUVOIR. 


THE  DOCUMENTS  IN   THE   CASE.  79 

DOCUMENT   NO.    40. 

Advertisement   under  head  of  "Marriages"  from 
the  New  York  '  'Herald,  '  '  April  jotti, 


BEAUVOIR  —  BEAUVOIR.  —  On  Wednesday,  Jan.  ist, 
1879,  at  Steal  Valley,  California,  by  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Twells,  William  Beauvoir,  only  son  of  Sir  Oliver 
Beauvoir,  of  Chelsworth  Cottage,  Surrey,  Eng- 
land, to  Nina,  only  child  of  the  late  William  Beau- 
voir, of  New  Centreville,  Cal. 


DOCUMENT    NO.    41. 

Extract  from  the  New  York  '•'•Herald"  of  May 
2$th,  1819  : 

Among  the  passengers  on  the  outgoing  Cunard 
steamer  Gallia,  which  lef*.  New  York  on  Wednes- 
day, was  the  Honorable  William  Beauvoir,  only 
son  of  Sir  Oliver  Beauvoir,  Bart.,  of  England. 
Mr.  Beauvoir  has  been  passing  his  honeymoon 
in  this  city,  and,  with  his  charming  bride,  a  fa- 
mous California  belle,  has  been  the  recipient  of 
many  cordial  courtesies  from  members  of  our 
best  society.  Mr.  William  Beauvoir  is  a  young 
man  of  great  promise  and  brilliant  attainments, 
and  is  a  highly  desirable  addition  to  the  large 
and  constantly  increasing  number  of  aristocratic 


8o  THE  DOCUMENTS  IN    THE   CASE. 

Britons  who  seek  for  wives  among  the  lovely 
daughters  of  Columbia.  We  understand  that  the 
bridal  pair  will  take  up  their  residence  with  the 
groom's  father,  at  his  stately  country-seat,  Chels- 
worth  Manor,  Suffolk. 


ONE  OF  THE  THIRTY  PIECES. 

BY  WILLIAM  HENRY  BISHOP. 

I. 

GRUYERE'S. 

IN  the  spring  of  the  year  1870  the  premium 
on  gold  had  fallen  so  low  that  it  began  to  be 
thought  by  sanguine  people  that  specie  payments 
would  be  resumed  at  once.  Silver  in  considerable 
quantities  actually  came  into  circulation.  Restau- 
rants, cigar-stands,  and  establishments  dealing  in 
the  lighter  articles  of  merchandise  paid  it  out  in 
change,  by  way  of  an  extra  inducement  to  cus- 
tomers. 

On  one  of  these  days  Henry  Barwood,  a  treas- 
ury clerk,  and  Megilp,  the  rather  well-known  pict- 
ure restorer,  met  by  accident  at  the  door  of  Gruy- 
ere's  restaurant.  Gruyere's  place,  although  in  the 

»*»  Atlantic  Monthly,  January,  1876. 


82  ONE   OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES. 

business  quarter,  is  not  supported  to  any  great  ex- 
tent by  the  hurrying  throng  of  bankers',  brokers', 
merchants',  and  lawyers'  clerks  who  overrun  the 
vicinity  every  day  at  lunch-time.  It  is  a  rather 
leisurely  resort,  frequented  by  well-to-do  import- 
ers, musicians,  and  artists,  people  who  have 
travelled,  and  whose  affairs  admit  of  considerable 
deliberation  and  repose.  Barwood  in  former  times 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  going  there  occasionally  to 
air  his  amateur  French,  burn  a  spoonful  of  brandy 
in  his  coffee,  and  enjoy  an  economical  foretaste  of 
Paris.  Returned  to  New  York  after  a  consider- 
able absence,  to  spend  his  vacation  at  home,  he 
was  inclined  to  renew  this  with  other  old  associa- 
tions. 

Megilp,  sprung  from  a  race  which  has  supplied 
the  world  with  a  large  share  of  its  versatility  of 
talent  and  its  adventurous  proclivities,  was  famil- 
iarly known  at  Gruyere's  as  "  Mac."  He  was 
removed  above  want  by  the  possession  of  an  in- 
come sufficient,  with  some  ingenuity  of  manage- 
ment, to  provide  him  with  the  bare  necessaries  of 
life. 

He  found  leisure  to  come  every  day  to  retail  the 
gossip  of  the  studios,  and  fortify  himself  for  the 
desultory  labors  in  which  he  was  engaged.  He 
liked  the  society  of  young  men  for  several  reasons. 
For  one  thing,  they  were  more  free  with  their 
purses  than  his  older  cronies.  The  association,  he 
also  thought,  threw  a  sort  of  glamour  of  youth 
about  his  own  person.  Finally,  they  listened  to 


ONE   OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES.  83 

the  disquisitions  and  artistic  rhapsodies  in  which 
he  was  fond  of  indulging,  with  an  attention  by  no 
means  accorded  by  his  compeers. 

Barwood  was  of  a  speculative  turn  of  mind,  and 
had  also  by  nature  a  strong  leaning  towards  what- 
ever was  curious  and  out  of  the  common.  These 
proclivities  Megilp's  conversation,  pursuits,  and 
studio  full  of  trumpery  were  calculated  to  gratify. 
A  moderate  sort  of  friendship  had  in  consequence 
sprung  up  between  them. 

They  made  mutual  protestations  of  pleasure  at 
this  meeting.  Barwood  considered  it  an  occasion 
worthy  of  a  bottle  of  Dry  Verzenay,  which  was 
not  demurred  to  by  Megilp. 

The  payment  of  specie  was  so  entire  a  novelty 
that,  when  the  inquiries  and  explanations  natural 
after  a  long  separation  were  concluded,  it  was 
among  the  first  topics  touched  upon. 

"  Sure  it's  the  first  hard  money  I've  seen  these 
ten  years,  so  it  is, "said  Megilp. 

"  That  is  my  case  also,"  said  Barwood.  "  I 
took  as  little  interest  in  the  matter  as  any  boy  of 
fourteen  might  be  expected  to  ;  but  I  remember 
very  well  how  rapidly  specie  disappeared  at  the 
beginning  of  the  war." 

"  And  where  has  it  been  ?"  said  Megilp. 
"  There's  many  fine  points  of  interest  about  it,  do 
you  see.  Consider  the  receptacles  in  which  it  has 
been  hoarded— the  secret  places  in  chimneys, 
under  floors  and  under  ground,  the  vaults,  old 
stockings,  cabinets,  and  caskets  that  have  teemeJ 


84  ONE   OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES. 

and  glittered  with  it.  Then  there's  the  characters, 
again,  of  all  its  various  owners  :  the  timid  doubt- 
ers about  the  government,  the  speculators,  the 
curiosity  hunters,  the  misers  " — 

"Yes,"  said  Barwood,  "  the  history  of  a  single 
one  of  these  pieces  for  the  period  would  probably 
make  a  story  full  of  interest."  It  did  not  detract 
from  the  value  of  Megilp's  conversation,  in  Bar- 
wood's  view,  that  the  worthy  artist  said  "  foine" 
and  "  hoorded  "  instead  of  adopting  the  more  con- 
ventional pronunciation. 

"  But  what  I'm  after  telling  you  isn't  the  sin- 
gular part  of  it  at  all,"  resumed  Megilp,  taking 
some  silver  from  his  pocket  and  evidently  settling 
down  to  the  subject.  "  What  is  ten  years  to  it? 
According  to  the  mint  reports  a  coin  of  the  pre- 
cious metals  loses  by  wear  and  tear  but  one 
twenty-four  hundredth  of  its  bulk  in  a  year. 
These  pieces  I  hold  in  my  hand,  coined  forty  years 
ago,  are  scarcely  defaced.  In  another  forty  they 
will  be  hardly  more  so.  What,  for  instance, 
has  been  the  career  of  this  Mexican  dollar  ?  Per- 
haps it  was  struck  from  bullion  fresh  from  a  Mexi- 
can mine.  In  that  case  I  have  nothing  to  say. 
But  just  as  likely  it  was  struck  from  old  Spanish 
plate  or  from  former  coin,  and  then  it  takes  us 
back  to  the  earliest  times,  and  its  origin  is  lost  in 
obscurity.  The  same  metal  is  time  after  time  re- 
melted,  re-cast,  re-stamped,  and  thus  maintained 
in  perpetual  youth.  This  gold  piece  upon  my 
watch-chain  was  perchance  coined  from  the  sands 


ONE   OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES.  85 

of  the  Pactolus,  and  once  bore  Chaldaean  charac- 
ters. And  to  what  uses  has  it  come  ? 

'  Imperial  Caesar,  dead  and  turned  to  clay, 
Might  stop  a  hole  to  keep  the  wind  away ;' 

and  so  the  pieces  paid  for  the  ransom  of  the  Inca 
of  Peru  or  Richard  the  Lion-hearted,  the  material 
of  the  spurs  of  Agincourt,  the  rings  of  Cleopatra 
and  Zenobia,  the  golden  targets  of  Solomon,  fash- 
ioned from  the  treasures  of  Ophir,  may  purchase 
soap  and  candles  and  mutton-chops  for  John 
Smith.  And  yet  why  not  ?  We  ourselves  have 
come  down  to  commonplace  usages  ;  why  should 
not  the  works  of  our  hands  ?  You  with  your  con- 
ventional hat  and  English  walking-coat,  I  with  my 
spectacles  and  Irish  brogue,  have  had  ancestors 
that  wore  coats  of  mail  in  the  first  crusade,  or 
twanged  cross-bows  with  Robin  Hood,  sailed  in 
the  ships  of  Tarshish,  and  traded  to  Tyre  and 
Sidon." 

"  You  think,  then,"  said  Barwood,  "  that  sonu 
part  of  the  coinage  of  antiquity  is  still  in  circula- 
tion." 

"  To  be  sure  I  do,  don't  I  tell  you  ?  I  say  the 
precious  metals  are  indestructible.  All  the  coins 
that  have  figured  prominently  in  history  are  in 
some  shape  or  other  among  us  still.  Twenty-four 
hundred  years  of  active  use  are  needed  to  wear  out 
a  coin  completely.  How  long  will  it  last  with 
moderate  use,  and  with  intervals  of  lying  buried 
for  hundreds  of  years,  as  much  of  the  coinage  of 


86  ONE   OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES. 

antiquity  now  extant  in  its  original  condition  has 
done?  We  have  among  us  the  rings,  bolts,  chains, 
bracelets,  drinking-vessels,  and  vases  that  glitter  in 
the  narratives  of  all  the  chroniclers,  and  embody 
the  pomp  and  luxury  of  all  the  ages. 

"  My  silver  dollar  here,  which  I  ring  upon 
Gruyere's  table,  and  with  which,  had  it  not  been 
for  your  amiable  politeness,  I  should  have  paid  for 
my  frugal  lunch,  has  haply  been  moulded  in  Cel- 
lini's dagger-hilts  or  crucifixes,  or  formed  part  of 
a  pirate's  booty  from  a  scuttled  galleon  on  the 
Spanish  Main.  For  aught  I  know,  it  was  current 
money  in  Nineveh  and  Babylon.  Perhaps  it  is 
one  of  the  pieces  paid  by  Abraham  to  the  children 
of  Heth  for  the  double  cave  that  looked  towards 
Mamre." 

"  Or  one  of  the  pieces  for  which  Judas  betrayed 
the  Master,"  suggested  Barwood. 

Megilp  looked  startled,  and  involuntarily  pushed 
the  money  away  from  him.  "  That  is  a  singular 
fancy  of  yours." 

"  It  came  to  me  quite  spontaneously  this 
moment,"  said  Barwood.  "I  don't  know  but  it 
is,  and  yet  it  was  a  very  natural  sequence  from 
what  preceded." 

Both  were  abstracted  for  some  moments,  and 
contemplated  in  silence  the  bubbles  twisting  up 
the  stems  of  the  delicate  wine-glasses. 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  finally  said  Barwood,  "  that 
those  coins,  if  extant,  carry  with  them  an  endur- 
ing curse?" 


ONE  OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES.  87 

"  There's  no  good  in  them,  you  may  depend," 
said  the  other.  By  this  time  both  bottle  and 
plates  were  empty.  The  train  of  thought  they 
had  been  pursuing  seemed  to  have  found  its  cli- 
max in  the  turn  given  it  by  Barvvood.  Over 
their  coffee  and  dessert  they  discussed  more  cheer- 
ful topics. 

"  Come  around  to  my  place  before  you  leave 
town,"  said  Megilp,  as  they  shook  hands  at  part- 
ing. "  I  have  a  one-legged  bronze  Hercules  from 
Pompeii.  I  think  ye'll  enjoy  it." 

As  he  hobbled  away  he  muttered  to  himself 
more  than  once,  "It's  the  divil's  own  fancy,  so  it 
is." 


II. 

ETHEREAL   CLAIMS. 

THE  business  of  the  Bureau  of  Ethereal  Claims 
at  Washington  was  conducted  by  a  moderate  force 
of  clerks,  under  the  direction  of  General  Bell- 
wether. The  general  had  been  a  little  of  every- 
thing in  his  time.  At  the  outbreak  of  the  war  he 
abandoned  an  unprofitable  insurance  agency  to 
raise  a  company.  He  displayed  considerable  cour- 
age and  strategic  talent  in  his  campaigning,  came 
out  a  brevet  brigadier,  and  had  been  making  a 
good  thing  of  it  ever  since  in  the  government  ser- 
vice. The  office  bristled  with  military  titles. 


88  ONE   OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES. 

Everybody  except  Barwood  and  Judge  Montane 
was  either  colonel,  major,  or  captain.  As  to  the 
judge,  a  middle-aged,  uncommunicative  man  who 
was  known  to  be  supporting  a  large  family,  he 
confessed  one  day  over  a  bottle,  ordered  in  by  the 
bureau  during  the  general's  absence,  that  his  title 
was  chiefly  honorary. 

"  What  court  did  you  used  to  be  judge  of,  Mon- 
tane ?"  inquired  young  Mars  Brown. 

"  I'll  tell  you,  boys,"  replied  the  judge,  yielding 
to  the  genial  influences  of  the  occasion  ;  "  I'm 
just  no  judge  at  all,  do  you  see,  except  may  be  as 
I'd  be  a  good  judge  of  whiskey  or  the  like." 

It  was  doubtful  whether  the  claims  of  some 
others  of  the  number  could  have  been  much  better 
established. 

Mars  Brown,  son  of  the  senator  of  that  name, — 
a  man  whose  influence  few  generals  or  bureaus  of 
claims  could  afford  to  disregard, — was  naturally 
the  most  privileged  character  in  the  office.  He 
chatted  familiarly  with  the  general  when  that  ir- 
regular chief  was  present,  absented  himself  for 
several  days  at  a  time  with  perfect  unconcern, 
came  late  in  the  morning,  and  went  early,  as  he 
explained,  to  make  up  for  it.  He  was  a  handsome 
fellow,  thoroughly  confident  of  himself,  and  com- 
panionable. He  displayed,  among  other  accom- 
plishments, an  acquaintance  with  the  manners  and 
customs  of  horses  and  dogs,  and  a  facility  in  the 
management  of  boats,  guns,  and  fishing  tackle 
that  made  him  an  indisputable  authority  on  all 


ONE   OF    THE    THIRTY  PIECES.  89 

matters  of  the  sort.  His  stock  of  stories  was  im- 
mense, his  wit  always  ready  and  very  comical. 
He  could  convulse  a  dinner-party  when  everything 
else  failed,  by  making  ridiculous  faces.  Among 
ladies  of  all  ages  he  was  a  sort  of  conquering  hero. 
He  was  consequently  5n  general  social  demand  as 
the  life  of  the  company. 

Such  was  Mars  Brown,  whom  Barwood,  shortly 
after  his  return  to  Washington,  began  to  regard 
with  distrust  and  dislike,  as  a  possible  rival  in  the 
quarter  where  his  affections  were  chiefly  centred. 

It  might  have  been  expected,  from  the  general's 
excessive  preoccupation  with  lobbyists  and  politi- 
cians, that  the  business  of  the  bureau  should  lan- 
guish, and  so  it  did.  The  brunt  of  it  was  borne  by 
a  few  clerks — of  whom  Barwood  was  not  one — 
whose  tenure  of  office  depended  upon  efficient  work 
rather  than  upon  influential  backing.  Government 
work  must  be  performed  by  somebody,  and  it  hap- 
pens that,  in  spite  of  the  great  principle  of  rota- 
tion, the  heads  of  men  of  undeniable  usefulness 
rest  firm  upon  their  shoulders  while  hundreds  are 
toppling  all  about  them. 

The  bureau  was  not  without  spasmodic  attempts 
at  discipline.  The  general  spent  an  occasional 
forenoon  in  lying  in  wait  for  delinquents,  whose 
shortcomings  he  made  the  text  for  some  very  for- 
cible remarks.  The  business  of  the  office,  he 
would  state  warmly,  should  be  attended  to,  or  he 
would  make  unpleasant  theological  arrangements 
for  himself  if  he  didn't  know  the  reason  why. 


90  ONE   OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES. 

With  Brown  he  never  went  much  further  than  to 
request,  as  a  personal  favor,  that  he  would  try  to 
be  on  hand  a  little  oftener  and  rather  earlier,  to 
which  Brown  always  acceded  quite  cordially. 

Admirable  punctuality  of  attendance  and  of 
office  hours  was  almost  always  observed  for  a 
couple  of  days  after  these  formalities,  and  then 
things  resumed  the  even  tenor  of  their  way. 

Whatever  might  be  the  effect  of  this  state  of 
affairs  upon  the  other  employe's  of  the  office  and 
upon  the  general  public,  it  was  certainly  disas- 
trous to  the  private  interests  of  Henry  Barwood. 
Naturally  of  an  unpractical,  somewhat  morbid  dis- 
position, he  needed  the  stimulus  of  a  business  life 
in  which  the  necessity  for  action  and  its  results 
when  performed  were  constantly  apparent.  If  en- 
gaged in  his  own  ventures,  taking  risks  and  devis- 
ing plans,  he  might  have  abandoned  his  specula- 
tions and  fancies,  and  become  a  man  of  affairs. 
As  it  was,  he  found  too  much  opportunity  for 
their  indulgence. 

Every  day  from  nine  to  three  he  assorted,  copied, 
and  made  abstracts  of  applications  and  reports,  the 
objects  of  which  were  remote,  their  expediency 
questionable,  and  their  ultimate  fate  problemati- 
ca..  Without  interest  in  the  work  and  without 
any  particular  pressure  for  its  performance,  he 
dreamed  over  it,  and  often  awoke  from  his  reveries 
to  find  his  figures  inaccurate  and  his  sentences 
meaningless. 

Morbid  people  are  probably  as  incomprehensible 


ONE   OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES.  91 

to  themselves  as  to  others.  The  world  is  viewed 
by  each  through  the  medium  of  his  own  ill-ad- 
justed temperament.  Objects  are  seen  in  a 
strangely  tinted  light,  which  is  more  than  suspect- 
ed to  be  delusive,  yet  cannot  be  decolorized. 
Barwood's  vision  was  affected  by  such  a  distorting 
influence.  He  discovered  subtle  meanings  in  ordi- 
nary things  or  circumstances,  in  the  manner  of  a 
nod  from  an  acquaintance  or  the  tone  of  a  remark, 
and  brooded  over  them.  He  continually  scruti- 
nized and  questioned  his  own  motives  and  those 
of  others. 

The  mind  of  every  human  being  is  a  puzzle  to 
every  other.  With  what  is  it  occupied  when  left 
to  its  own  devices  ?  There  is,  in  Barwood's  hand- 
writing,* proof  that  his  brain  was  filled  with  a 
procession  of  changing  activities  and  impressions 
which  were  for  the  most  part  melancholy, — aspira- 
tions for  fame,  distrust  in  his  own  powers,  fore- 
casting of  probabilities,  repining  for  past  sins  and 
follies,  rage  and  epithets  for  imaginary  meetings 
with  enemies.  In  the  midst  of  all  there  were 
moments  of  perfect  peace  made  up  of  reminis- 
cences of  a  high-porticoed  house,  the  grass-grown 
wheel-tracks  and  the  sandy  beach  of  the  village  on 
the  Connecticut  coast  where  his  early  home  had 
been.  His  fancies  were  rich  and  full,  but  slightly 
chaotic.  So  also  his  will  was  strong  and  imperi- 
ous at  times,  but  vacillating. 

*  From  entries  in  a  carefully  kept  diary. 


92  ONE  OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES. 

It  could  not  be  said  that  he  was  not  ambitious. 
He  would  have  desired  success  in  order  to  secure  a 
kindly  recognition  and  to  obviate  the  jars  and 
harshness  of  life.  But  no  one  prevailing  impulse 
had  ever  enlisted  his  full  powers.  He  saved 
money,  with  a  general  indefinite  notion  of  some 
day  becoming  a  capitalist,  and  also  gave  much 
time  to  studies  of  various  sorts.  He  learned  music 
among  the  rest,  after  coming  of  age,  and  com- 
posed music  of  his  own,  using  as  an  inspiration  a  fa- 
vorite poem,  picture,  or  character.  These  compo- 
sitions were  marked  by  a  quaintness  like  that — if  a 
comparison  may  be  made  to  something  tangible — 
of  a  Chinese  vase  or  a  broken  bronze  figure.  His 
family,  the  Barwoods,  had  been  from  the  earliest 
times  a  race  of  shrewd  and  driving  New  England 
storekeepers,  the  very  antipodes  of  sentiment  and 
dilettanteism.  Such  incongruities  are  among  the 
compensations  of  nature.  The  Holbrook  farm 
was  the  one  locality,  and  Nina  Holbrook  the  one 
figure,  in  the  generally  sombre  prospect  which 
Barwood  saw  about  him,  that  gleamed  in  sunshine. 
By  the  interposition  of  Mars  Brown  these  also 
were  presently  shadowed. 


ONE   OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES.  93 

III. 

THE    SEARCH. 

IT  would  have  been  strange,  with  Barwood's 
habits  of  retrospection  and  continual  casting  about 
for  the  rare  and  curious,  if  the  subject  matter  of 
his  conversation  with  the  old  painter  at  Gryuere's 
had  not  taken  some  hold  upon  his  imagination. 
But  to  explain  the  rapidity  with  which  the  notion 
there  suggested  grew,  and  the  absorbing  interest 
with  which  it  finally  held  him,  would  be  difficult. 
The  influence  of  the  mind  upon  the  body  is  known. 
By  persistent  direction  of  thought  one  can  both 
create  and  cure  a  pain  in  any  specific  spot  of  his 
organism.  The  mind  has  a  similar  power  over  it- 
self. By  intense  concentration  upon  one  subject 
it  may  suspend  and  finally  destroy  its  faculty  of 
interest  in  any  and  all  others. 

The  idea  that  the  price  of  the  treason  of  Judas  is 
still  extant  and  current  in  these  every-day,  com- 
monplace times  is  at  first  sight  utterly  incongru- 
ous and  incredible,  perhaps  a  little  sacrilegious. 
Yet  it  is  evidently  plausible.  "  The  precious 
metals  are  indeed  indestructible,  as  Megilp  has 
said,"  soliloquized  Barwood.  "  They  do  not  oxid- 
ize. The  most  violent  excesses  of  the  elements 
have  no  effect  upon  them.  If  not  still  extant, 
where  then  are  the  treasures  of  the  ages  ? 

"  Buried  under  ground  or  in  the  ocean. 


94  ONE   OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES. 

"What  proportion  of  the  whole  has  been  thus 
disposed  of  ? 

"  In  the  absence  of  statistics  a  definite  amount 
cannot  be  stated,  but  from  the  nature  of  the  case 
it  cannot  be  large.  This  form  of  wealth  has  been 
too  highly  esteemed,  too  jealously  guarded,  and 
too  rigorously  sought  for  when  lost.  In  the  wars 
and  convulsions  of  society  it  has  changed  hands, 
but  it  could  not  be  destroyed.  Alexander  and 
Tamerlane  and  Timour  the  Tartar  and  Mahomet 
might  overrun  the  world,  burning  and  destroying, 
and  melting  its  more  fragile  riches  like  frost- 
work. But  the  money  of  the  vanquished  was  use- 
ful to  the  victor  for  his  own  purposes.  Rome  took 
from  Alexander,  the  barbarians  from  Rome,  and 
modern  civilization  from  the  barbarians.  The 
waves  of  time  roll  over  and  engulf  all  the  monu- 
ments of  men,  all  that  gold  and  silver  buy  and  sell, 
and,  as  it  were,  create  ;  but  these  irrepressible 
tokens  themselves  float  and  glitter  in  the  foam- 
crests  upon  those  very  billows.  It  cannot,  then, 
be  doubted  that  the  instruments  and  accompani- 
ments of  most  of  the  pomp  and  luxury,  the  war, 
treasons,  and  varied  mercenary  crimes  of  the  world, 
are  still  acting  their  part  in  it. 

"  And  why  not  with  the  rest  the  fatal  money 
which  Judas  cast  down  before  the  chief  priests  in 
his  remorse,  going  out  to  destroy  himself  ?" 

These  were  the  reflections  that  recurred  again 
and  again  to  Barwood,  and  possessed  him  with  a 
stiange  fascination.  Ail  coins  acquired  a  new  and 


ONE   OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES.  95 

intense  interest.  He  saw  in  each  the  exponent  of 
centuries  of  human  passions  and  activities.  It  is 
true  that  in  a  country  like  our  own  a  large  part 
of  the  coinage  is  fresh  from  the  mine.  Yet  his  oc- 
casional encounters  with  foreign,  especially  Mexi- 
can and  Canadian  pieces,  and  a  consideration  of 
the  immense  sums  received  at  the  great  ports  of 
entry,  were,  in  his  regard,  sufficient  to  leaven  the 
whole. 

Is  there  anywhere  in  literature  an  account  of  the 
subsequent  career  of  the  thirty  pieces  ? 

The  Capitol  library,  one  of  the  most  complete 
collections  in  the  world,  offers  unlimited  facilities 
for  research.  There  Barwood  was  to  be  found 
some  part  of  every  day  for  months. 

The  writer  has  seen  a  list  of  the  works  consulted 
by  him  in  his  singular  investigation.  It  numbers 
some  hundreds,  and  includes  commentaries  of  all 
sorts  upon  the  Gospels,  lives  of  the  apostles,  collec- 
tions of  apocryphal  Gospels  and  Scriptural  tradi- 
tions, the  works  of  the  early  fathers,  chronicles  of 
the  Middle  Ages,  treatises  upon  Oriental  life  and 
customs,  histories  of  symbolism  and  Christian  art, 
a  great  number  of  works  upon  numismatics,  and, 
finally,  accounts  of  great  crimes  and  calamities 
For  Barwood  took  a  new  view  of  history  :  he 
looked  to  find  that  the  great  treasons,  briberies, 
betrayals  of  trust,  murders  from  mercenary 
motives,  and  perhaps  financial  troubles,  had  been 
set  in  motion  by  this  fatal  money,  made  the  instru- 
ment of  divine  vengeance. 


96  CNE   OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES, 

"It  has  mown  a  swath  through  history,"  he 
said,  "  like  a  discharge  of  grape." 

He  believed  it  would  appear,  if  the  truth  were 
known,  in  the  bank  accounts  of  Manuel  Comnenus, 
of  Egmont,  Benedict  Arnold,  and  the  Hungarian 
Gorgey. 

His  progress  was  by  no  means  rapid.  Much  of 
the  literature  among  which  he  delved,  musty  with 
age,  written  in  mediaeval  Latin  and  in  obsolete 
characters,  gave  up  its  secrets  with  reluctance. 
Nevertheless  he  found  definite  replies  to  the  ques- 
tions which  he  propounded  to  himself.  A  collec- 
tion of  apocryphal  Gospels  "printed,"  according 
to  the  quaint  title-page,  "  for  Richard  Royston  at 
the  Angle  in  Amen  Corner,  MDCLXX,"  relates 
particulars  about  Judas,  among  the  rest,  which 
do  not  appear  in  the  Scriptures.  He  was  when 
young,  it  was  said,  a  playmate  of  the  boy  Jesus, 
who  delivered  him  from  a  devil  by  which  he  was 
even  then  possessed.  The  chief  value  of  this  book 
to  Barwood  was  in  a  reference  it  contained  to  a 
fuller  Gospel  of  Judas  Iscariot,  not  now  extant 
with  the  exception  of  some  passages  quoted  in  the 
writings  of  Irenaeus.  But  these  passages  were 
upon  the  very  subject  of  which  he  was  in  search. 
In  a  treatise  of  Irenaeus's,  therefore,  of  about  the 
second  century,  Barwood  found  the  first  definite 
mention  of  the  coins. 

The  main  part  of  the  story  is  that  of  the  author- 
ized version,  but  after  the  account  of  the  relin- 
quishment  of  the  coins  by  Judas,  saying  that  he 


ONE   OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES.  97 

had  betrayed  innocent  blood,  and  of  their  use  in 
the  purchase  of  the  potter's  field,  occurs  a  passage 
translated  *  by  Barwood  as  follows  : — 

"  Now  the  shekels  were  of  the  coinage  of  Simon, 
the  high  priest,  which  Antiochus  authorized  him 
to  issue.  They  bore  the  pot  of  manna  and  the 
flowering  rod  of  Aaron,  the  high  priest.  But  he  to 
whom  they  were  given  knew  that  they  were  the  price 
of  blood,  and  was  afraid.  And  he  stamped  them 
with  a  mark  in  shape  like  a  cross.  And  great  tribula- 
tions came  upon  him,  and  tribulation  came  upon 
all  that  bought  and  sold  with  the  money  of  Judas." 
Later  on,  Leontinus,  a  Byzantine  writer  of  the 
sixth  century,  in  a  treatise  devoted  to  showing  the 
efficacy  of  certain  forms  and  processes  in  imparting 
virtue  to  inanimate  matter,  instances  as  well 
known  the  malevolence  inherent  in  the  thirty 
pieces  of  silver  of  Judas,  which  carry  ruin  wherever 
they  go.  From  this  time  the  legend  is  traced  down 
through  successive  periods.  The  Middle  Ages, 
which  so  delighted  in  the  romantic,  the  mysterious, 
the  portentous,  received  it  implicitly.  Eginhard,  ab- 
bot of  Seligenstadt  under  Charlemagne,  William  of 
Malmesbury,  the  English  chronicler  of  the  twelfth 
century,  Roger  Bacon  of  the  thirteenth,  Malespini, 
the  Italian  chronicler  of  the  same  period,  and  many 
others  of  equal  note  mention  as  fully  established 
that  the  coins  of  Judas  were  in  circulation,  and 
were  inflicting  serious  injury  upon  those  into  whose 

*  Diary,  June,  1870. 


98  ONE   OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES. 

possession  they  came.  It  was  said  to  be  impossible 
to  amalgamate  them  with  any  other  silver.  They 
either  would  not  melt  or  in  melting  remained  dis- 
tinct. This,  however,  was  a  disputed  point.  Some 
of  the  alchemists  in  their  writings  seem  disposed 
to  attribute  the  ill  success  of  their  efforts  at  trans- 
mutation to  the  presence  of  some  taint  of  these 
pieces  in  the  silver  upon  which  they  were  experi- 
menting. 

Matthew  Paris,  who  first  popularized  the  legend 
of  the  Wandering  Jew,  as  now  received,  strangely 
enough  makes  no  mention  of  them. 

The  conclusions  arrived  at  by  Barwood  were 
these  : — 

1.  There  was  for  hundreds  of  years  a  general  be- 
lief in   the  existence  and   active  circulation  of  the 
thirty  pieces  paid  to  Judas. 

2.  They  were  supposed  to  be  sent  as  a  divine 
judgment,  and  to  leave  ruin  in  their  track. 

3.  The  tradition  gradually  disappeared  and  can- 
not be  traced  in  the  literature  of  modern  times. 

Here  was  a  valuable  pursuit  for  a  young  Ameri- 
can treasury  clerk  of  the  nineteenth  century  !  It 
would  have  been  interesting  to  have  got  the  gen- 
eral's opinion  upon  it,  if  it  could  have  been  sought 
in  some  hurried  interval  of  his  confidential  trans- 
actions with  Richard  Roe,  claim  agent  and  brother- 
in-law,  or  his  attention  to  addition  and  division 
with  Congressman  Doublegamef 

Barwood  did  not  stop  here.  Now  that  his  belief 
was  put  into  tangible  shape,  he  felt  impelled  on- 


ONE   OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES.  99 

ward  to  its  realization.  He  examined  minutely 
every  coin  collection  in  Washington.  Then,  as  he 
could,  he  made  journeys  to  several  of  the  great 
cities.  Very  seldom  did  he  find  a  specimen  of 
Jewish  money  of  any  kind.  Jewish  coins  are  rare. 
"It  is  known  that  the  Jews  had  no  coinage  of 
their  own  until  the  time  of  Maccabeus.  Simon 
Maccabeus,  by  virtue  of  a  decree  of  Antiochus  (i 
Mace.  xv.  6)  issued  a  shekel  and  also  a  half-shekel. 
These  with  the  exception  of  some  brass  coins  of 
the  Herods,  Archelaus,  and  Agrippa,  and  a  doubt- 
ful piece  attributed  to  Bar  Cochba,  the  leader  in 
the  last  rising  against  the  Romans,  are  the  only 
coins  of  Judea  extant." 

Barwood  began  to  be  affected  by  a  nervous 
dread  brought  on  by  his  too  dose  study  and  con- 
stant preoccupation  with  this  subject.  As  he  alone 
had  felt  this  interest  and  prosecuted  this  strange 
inquiry,  might  it  not  be  that  he  was  being  drawn 
in  some  mysterious  way  within  the  influence  of  the 
fatal  money  ?  Perhaps  he  himself  was  to  be  in- 
volved in  its  relentless  course.  He  shuddered  at 
the  thought,  and  yet  was  borne  irresistibly  on,  as 
he  believed,  in  his  pursuit.  He  imagined  at  times 
that  he  felt  a  peculiar  influence  from  the  touch  of 
certain  pieces.  This  he  held  to  be  a  clairvoyant 
sense  that  they  had  figured  in  crimes.  Perhaps 
contact  with  a  hand  affected  by  powerful  passion 
had  imparted  to  them  subtle  properties  capable  of 
being  detected  by  a  sensitive  organization. 

In  such  study  and  speculation  Barwood  passed 


ioo  ONE  OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES. 

the  spring  and  summer  of  1870.  Towards  the 
middle  of  August  occurred  the  well-remembered 
flurry  in  Wall  Street  consequent  upon  the  breaking 
out  of  the  French  and  Prussian  War.  Gold  jump- 
ed up  to  one  hundred  and  twenty-three.  Money 
was  loaned  at  ruinous  rates.  The  whole  financial 
system  was  disturbed.  Silver,  then  withdrawn 
from  circulation,  has  not  reappeared  to  this  day. 

The  effect  of  these  events  upon  Barwood, 
although  not  immediately  apparent,  was  highly 
important.  With  the  disappearance  of  specie,  the 
daily  sight  and  handling  of  which  had  given  his 
conception  a  tangible  support,  its  strength  de- 
clined. It  was  not  forgotten  at  once,  nor  indeed 
at  all.  But  time  drew  it  away  by  little  and  little. 
It  threw  mists  of  distance  and  hues  of  strangeness 
about  it,  until  at  length  Barwood  looked  back 
upon  it,  far  remote,  as  a  vague  object  of  wonder- 
ment. 


IV. 

THE    HOLBROOK    FARM. 

THE  day  had  been  sultry.  Even  after  sunset  the 
atmosphere  was  oppressive,  and  pavements  and 
railings  in  the  city  were  warm  to  the  touch  from 
the  steady  blaze  to  which  they  had  been  subjected. 
At  the  Holbrook  farm,  however,  occasional  puffs 
of  air  stirred  the  silver  poplars  skirting  the  road. 


ONE   OF    THE    THIRTY  PIECES.  101 

and  waved  the  brown  timothy  grass  that  grew 
knee-deep  up  to  the  veranda. 

Porto  Rico  and  Carter's  boy  turning  somersaults 
in  the  grass — entirely  without  the  knowledge  of  the 
discreet  Carter  himself,  it  may  be  assumed — sud- 
denly relinquished  this  fascinating  sport  to  rush 
for  the  privilege  of  holding  Barwood's  horse. 
Porto  Rico's  longer  legs  and  general  force  of  char- 
acter gave  him  the  preference.  He  jumped  into 
the  saddle  as  soon  as  Barwood  was  out  of  it,  and 
trotted  off  to  the  stable  with  Carter's  boy  whooping 
and  bobbing  his  woolly  head  in  the  rear. 

"  Never  you  mine,"  said  Carter's  boy,  "  I'll 
have  the  other  gen'l'm'n." 

"  No  other  gen'l'm'n  a'n't  comin',"  said  Porto 
Rico.  "  Don't  I  done  tole  you  dey  don't  bofe 
come  de  same  day  ?" 

The  Holbrook  house,  three  miles  from  the 
Capitol,  of  the  dome  of  which  it  commands  a 
pretty  glimpse  across  an  expanse  of  foliage,  is  one 
of  the  old  residences  remaining  from  the  days  of 
the  slave-holders.  Like  many  such  places  it  has 
been  much  altered  and  improved.  It  seems  to 
have  been  originally  a  one-and-a-half-story  stone 
dwelling,  to  which  some  later  proprietor  has  added 
a  high-peaked  roof,  dormer  windows,  and  ample 
piazzas.  It  stands  half-way  up  a  slope,  near  the 
top  of  which  is  a  grove.  A  brook  runs  down 
through  the  woods  on  the  other  side  of  the  road, 
and  beyond  that  rises  a  steep  little  bluff  crowned 
with  scrub-oaks  and  chestnuts. 


102  ONE   OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES. 

The  attraction  that  drew  people  to  Holbrook 
farm  was  not  the  proprietor  himself,  nor  very 
much  his  maiden  sister,  the  housekeeper,  nor  yet 
Carter,  the  farmer  and  manager  who  came  with 
them  from  Richmond.  It  was  rather  the  engaging 
manners  and  amiable  beauty  of  Nina  Holbrook,  the 
daughter  of  the  house.  The  old  gentleman  was  a 
partial  paralytic,  whimsical,  and  not  especially 
sociable.  He  was  known  to  have  lived  in  princely 
style  at  Richmond,  formerly.  He  was  said  to  have 
met  for  some  years  past  with  continual  reverses,  in 
the  loss  of  property,  in  sickness,  and  in  the  death 
of  friends.  The  farm  was  bought  with  almost  the 
last  remnants  of  a  great  fortune. 

As  Barwood  strode  down  the  piazza,  a  young 
lady  rose  from  her  reading  to  give  him  her  hand. 

Blonde  beauty  is  slightly  indefinite.  The  edges 
are,  as  it  were,  too  much  softened  off  into  the 
background.  The  figure  before  Barwood  was 
fresh,  distinct,  clear-cut, — pre-Raphaelitish,  to  take 
a  word  from  painting.  In  all  the  details,  from  the 
ribbon  in  her  feathery  brown  hair  to  the  pretty 
buttoned  boot,  there  was  the  ineffable  aroma  of  a 
pure,  delicate  taste. 

To  a  man  of  Barwood's  temperament  falling  in 
love  was  difficult.  He  analyzed  too  closely.  To 
ask  the  tender  passion  too  many  questions  is  to  re- 
pel its  advances. 

Nevertheless,  after  two  years  of  intimate  associa- 
tion, in  which  he  had  discovered  in  Nina  Holbrook 
a  frankness  and  loveliness  of  character  commensu- 


ONE   OF   THE   THIRTY  PIECES.  103 

rate  with  her  personal  graces,  he  had  arrived  at 
this  condition.  First,  He  believed  that  her  per- 
manent influence  upon  his  character  could  cure  his 
moodiness  and  his  unpractical  tendencies,  and 
enable  him  to  exert  his  fullest  powers.  Second, 
By  making  the  supposition  that  anything  should 
intervene  to  limit  or  break  off  their  intercourse,  he 
found  that  she  had  become  indispensable  to  him. 

Their  acquaintance  had  begun  in  some  one  of 
the  ordinary  ways  in  which  people  meet.  It  might 
have  been  at  a  tea-party,  or  a  secretary's  reception, 
or  a  boat  excursion  up  the  Potomac.  They  dis- 
covered that  they  had  mutual  acquaintances  to  talk 
about.  His  evening  rides  began  to  be  directed 
through  the  pretty  lanes  that  led  to  Holbrook. 
She  loaned  him  a  book  ;  he  brought  her  confec- 
tionery ;  they  played  some  piano  duets  together. 

On  her  side  the  sentiment  was  different.  She 
respected  Barwood  for  fine  traits  and  was  grate- 
ful for  his  many  kindnesses  to  her.  But  certain 
peculiar  moods  of  his  made  her  uncomfortable. 
His  interest  also  was  too  much  occupied  with 
books,  speculations  about  the  anomalies  and  prob- 
lems of  life,  and  similar  serious  matters.  She 
found  it  wearisome  and  often  difficult  to  follow 
him.  She  admired  such  things,  but  had  not  as 
much  head  for  them  as  he  gave  her  credit  for. 
Her  taste  was  more  practical,  commonplace,  and 
cheerful.  She  was  satisfied  with  people  and  things 
in  their  ordinary  aspects. 

She  got  on  much  better  with  Mars  Brown,  ex- 


104  ONE   OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES. 

changing  comments  with  him  upon  the  affairs  of 
her  friends  and  his,  discussing  the  last  party  and 
the  next  wedding,  or  laughing  at  his  drollery.  She 
confessed  her  stupidity  and  frivolity  with  charm- 
ing frankness. 

Barwood  was  conscious  that  he  did  not  always 
interest  her,  although  she  never  showed  anything 
but  the  most  ladylike  attention.  He  often  went 
away  lamenting  the  destiny  that  had  fashioned  his 
nature  to  run  in  so  small  and  rigid  a  groove.  His 
happiness,  therefore,  did  not  consist  in  being  with 
her,  for  then  he  was  oppressed  by  a  consciousness 
of  not  entirely  pleasing  her.  It  was  rather  in  ret- 
rospect, in  his  memory  of  her  sweet  and  earnest 
face,  the  tones  of  her  voice,  the  shine  of  her  hair. 
He  gave  her  such  small  gifts  as  he  might  within  the 
restraints  of  social  propriety.  It  would  have  con- 
sisted with  his  notion  of  the  fitness  of  things  to  give 
her  everything  he  had  and  leave  himself  a  beggar. 

Barwood  rode  to  Holbrook  to-day  with  a  definite 
purpose.  He  was  aware,  although,  as  Porto  Rico 
said,  both  gentlemen  did  not  come  on  the  same 
day,  that  Mars  Brown  was  devoting  more  attention 
in  this  direction  of  late  than  the  exigencies  of  his 
boat  and  ball  clubs,  his  shooting  and  fishing,  and 
the  claims  of  the  social  world  in  town  would  seem 
to  warrant.  He  did  not  yet  really  fear  him  as  a 
rival.  His  presence  was  only  a  suggestion  of 
possibilities.  There  might  at  some  time  be  rivals. 
He  had  determined  to  forestall  possibilities,  and 
tell  her  of  his  affection  at  once. 


ONE    OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES.  105 

Mars  Brown  was,  however,  a  dangerous  rival, 
although  himself  perhaps  as  little  aware  of  it  as 
Barwood.  He  also  had  met  Nina  and  been  im- 
pressed by  her  animated  beauty.  Accustomed  to 
success,  he  had  ridden  out  to  Holbrook  to  add  one 
more  to  his  list  of  flirtations  and  conquests.  The 
results  had  by  no  means  answered  his  expectations. 
When  he  approached  sentiment  Nina  laughed  at 
him.  By  degrees  he  had  been  piqued  into  earnest- 
ness, and  had  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  approxi- 
mated to  a  serious  esteem  and  attachment. 

Although  Nina  laughed  at  first,  later  on  she 
sometimes  blushed  at  his  voice  or  his  step,  or  when 
she  put  her  hand  into  his.  If  his  customary  shrewd 
vision  had  not  been  disturbed  by  some  unusual  in- 
fluences at  work  within  himself,  he  would  have 
seen  it. 

He  had  the  audacity  that  charms  women,  and 
with  it  a  frank,  open  face,  a  hearty  laugh,  an  en- 
tirely healthy,  cheerful  disposition,  and  an  air  of 
strength  under  all  his  frivolity. 

It  has  been  said  that  Barwood  had  come  to  the 
farm  to-day  with  a  definite  purpose.  He  drew  up 
one  of  the  comfortable  chairs  at  hand,  and  sat 
down  near  to  Nina.  They  talked  at  first  of  ordi- 
nary things,  the  unusual  heat,  the  news  of  the  day, 
and  what  each  had  been  doing  since  their  last 
meeting. 

The  secluded  prospect  before  them  was  very 
peaceful.  Barwood  felt  its  soothing  influence 
acting  upon  the  perturbation  of  his  spirit. 


Io6  ONE   OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES. 

"  I  am  improving  my  mind,  you  see,"  said  Nina, 
holding  up  to  him  one  of  Motley's  histories,  which 
she  had  apparently  been  reading.  "  I  do  not  be- 
lieve even  you  can  find  fault  with  this." 

"  Am  I  in  the  habit  of  finding  fault  with  any- 
body, Miss  Nina  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  I  don't  mean  that  exactly,  but  you 
know  so  much,  you  know,  that  you  frighten  one." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Barwood  with  a  grave  smile, 
"  you  flatter  me." 

"Why  were  you  not  at  the  Hoyts'  last  Tues- 
day ?"  said  she. 

"  I  was  not  invited,  and,  strange  to  state,  I  am 
a  little  diffident  about  going  under  such  circum- 
stances." 

"  Ah,  you  are  !  how  singular  !  But  I  wish  you 
had  been  there,  if  it  was  only  to  see  Betty  Good- 
win. You  used  to  know  her.  It  is  such  a  short 
time  ago  that  she  was  a  little  girl.  Now  she  is  out 
of  school  and  as  important  as  anybody.  You 
should  have  seen  the  attention  she  had,  and  her 
perfect  self-possession.  It  makes  me  feel  extremely 
antiquated.  Am  I  very  much  wrinkled  ?" 

Barwood  gazed  with  admiration  at  her  animated 
face.  She  was  to  him  the  personification  of  youth 
and  beauty.  The  notion  of  age  and  wrinkles  in 
her  regard  was  inconceivable. 

"Why,  of  course,"  said  he;  "Methuselah 
wasn't  a  circumstance." 

She  dismissed  the  subject  with  a  little  pout. 

"lam  so  glad  you  have  come  early,"  she  re- 


ONE   OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES.  107 

sumed.  "  I  wish  the  others  would  imitate  your 
example." 

"  The  others  ?    What  others  ?" 

"  Mr.  Hyson,  the  Hoyt  boys,  Mr.  Brown,  Fanny 
Davis,  and  the  rest.  You  did  not  suppose  you 
were  to  do  them  alone,  I  hope." 

"  Do  what  alone  ?     I  don't  understand." 

"  Why,  the  tableaux — Evangeline.  Did  you  not 
get  my  message  yesterday  ?" 

"  I  got  no  message.  Am  I  to  be  implicated  in 
tableaux  ?" 

"  Why,  certainly.  You  are  to  be  Evangeline's 
father.  They  are  for  the  benefit  of  the  French 
wounded.  I  sent  Carter  to  tell  you  yesterday. 
We  are  to  arrange  the  preliminaries  this  evening." 

Barwood  saw  that  if  he  would  not  postpone  his 
purpose  no  time  was  to  be  lost.  The  visitors 
might  arrive  at  any  moment. 

Literature  is  full  of  the  embarrassments  of  the 
marriage  proposal.  To  all  who  are  not  borne 
along  by  an  impetuous  impulse  it  is  a  trying 
ordeal.  Barwood  was  too  self-conscious  ever  to  be 
transported  out  of  himself. 

"  I  have  something  to  say  to  you,  Miss  Nina," 
he  began,  "  which  I  have  come  from  town  ex- 
pressly to  say,  It  is  of  the  greatest  moment  to 
me." 

She  continued  to  look  straight  before  her  at  the 
glowing  evening  sky,  and  so  did  he.  The  crickets 
and  katydids  had  commenced  their  chorus  and  the 
tree-toads  their  long  rhythm.  Fire-flies  flitted  in 


Io8  ONE   OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES. 

the  uncertain  light.  There  came  from  the  woods 
the  call  of  the  owl  and  the  whippobrwill. 

"  We  have  sometimes  laughed  together  at  senti- 
ment," he  continued,  "and  voted  it  an  invention 
of  the  story-books  ;  but  there  are  times — there  is  a 
sentiment — which— in  short,  dear  Nina,  I  have 
come  to  ask  you  to  be  my  little  wife.  I  have  loved 
you  almost  since  our  first  meeting." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Barwood,"  said  she,  looking  hastily 
towards  him,  with  heightened  color  and  a  tone  of 
regret,  "  you  must  not  say  so.  I  cannot  let  you 
go  on." 

"  I  must  go  on,"  said  he.  "  I  have  never  felt  so 
strongly  upon  any  subject  as  this.  I  know  I  am 
not  worthy  of  such  happiness,  yet  I  cannot  bear 
the  thought  of  losing  it.  Consider  our  long 
friendship.  You  will  be  mine  ?  Oh,  say  so, 
Nina  !"  In  the  terrible  dread  that  his  petition  was 
already  refused,  he  became  a  little  incoherent. 

Nina,  a  tender-hearted  young  lady,  was  by  this 
time  in  tears.  His  evident  distress,  and  her  recog- 
nition of  the  great  compliment  he  had  paid  her, 
would  have  commanded  almost  any  return  save  the 
one  he  asked.  But  the  sacrifice  was  too  great. 
She  had  not  thought  it  would  ever  be  necessary  to 
change  their  relation  of  friendship. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  have  to  say  what  is  painful 
to  you,"  said  she,  with  a  sob  only  half  repressed. 
"  I  want  you  to  be  always  my  friend.  I  shall  be 
very  unhappy  if  our  friendship  is  to  be  broken,  but 
/cannot — you  will  find  some  other" — 


ONE    OF    THE    THIRTY  PIECES.  109 

"  Do  not  speak  further,"  he  interrupted,  im- 
petuously. "  You  have  not  yet  said  no.  Reserve 
your  answer  ;  take  time  to  consider.  Let  me  still 
hope." 

"  No,"  she  began,  "  I  ought" — but  wheels  and 
merry  voices  were  heard  at  the  gate.  "  Oh  !  I 
cannot  let  them  see  me  now,"  she  said,  and  hur- 
ried away.  In  a  moment  more  the  Robinsons' 
carriage  was  at  the  steps.  When  Nina  came  down 
with  a  sweet,  subdued  manner,  there  was  a  jolly 
party  of  ten  or  twelve  in  the  drawing-room.  Mars 
Brown  was  already  amusing  everybody  with  his 
absurd  posturing. 

"  I  want  to  be  Evangeline,"  said  he,  wrapping  a 
lady's  shawl  about  him  and  sitting  on  the  arm  of  a 
chair  in  a  collapsed  attitude.  "No,  on  second 
thought,  I  want  to  be  Basil  the  blacksmith."  He 
made  imitations  of  tremendous  muscular  power 
with  a  tack-hammer  that  happened  in  his  way  for 
a  sledge.  Everybody  on  such  occasions  has  his 
own  notions  of  the  picturesque.  A  deal  of  talking 
was  required  in  arranging  the  various  scenes. 
Evangeline  must  manifest  a  "  celestial  brightness," 
according  to  the  lines.  "  I  don't  think  you  do  it 
quite  right,"  said  Julia  Robinson.  "  You  should 
smile  a  little." 

"  Oh  no,  not  at  all  ;  she  should  have  an  earnest, 
far-off  look,"  said  another  critic. 

"  Of  course  she  should,"  said  Mars  Brown, 
rumpling  his  hair  and  contorting  his  features  into 
an  expression  of  idiotic  vacancy  ;  "  something  this 
way." 


HO  ONE  OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES. 

"  We  ought  to  have  a  real  artist  to  arrange 
them,"  said  Nina  ;  "  what  would  I  give  if  old  Mr. 
Megilp  were  here." 

"  Did  you  know  Megilp  ?"  exclaimed  Barwood. 

"  Why,  of  course  I  did.  He  was  my  drawing 
teacher  at  Richmond  for  years." 

"What  a  small  world  it  is,  to  be  sure,"  said 
Barwood,  giving  vent  to  a  favorite  reflection.  The 
mention  of  Megilp  brought  back  for  a  moment  a 
remembrance  of  their  last  meeting  and  conversa- 
tion, and  the  strange  pursuit  into  which  it  had  led 
him. 

The  signing  of  the  marriage  contract  was  selected 
by  the  amateurs  as  an  appropriate  subject  for  illus- 
tration. 

"  We  must  have  a  table,"  said  Miss  Travers. 
"  At  one  side  sits  the  notary,  lifting  his  pen  from 
the  document  which  he  has  just  signed,  and  at  the 
other  her  father,  pushing  toward  the  notary  a  roll 
of  money  in  payment." 

"  Here  you  are,"  said  George  Wigwag,  taking 
his  place  and  assuming  the  appropriate  gesture  ; 
"  here's  your  notary  ;  bring  on  your  old  gentle- 
man and  his  money." 

"  A  roll  of  old  copper  cents  would  be  just  the 
thing,"  said  Miss  Travers.  "They  look  antique 
enough." 

"  Will  some  gentleman  deposit  with  the  treasurer 
a  roll  of  antique  copper  cents?"  said  Brown,  pass- 
ing a  hat.  "  No  gentleman  deposits  a  roll  of 
copper  cents.  Very  well,  then  the  wedding  can't 
go  on." 


ONE   OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES.  Ill 

"  Do  you  think  I'll  sign  marriage  contracts  for 
copper?"  said  Wigwag.  "No  indeed;  I'm  not 
that  kind  of  a  notary." 

"  I  will  bring  down  some  of  papa's  curiosity 
coins  from  his  cabinet,"  said  Nina.  "  I  don't  be- 
lieve he  will  scold  me,  just  for  once." 

She  returned  in  a  moment  with  a  dozen  or  more 
silver  pieces,  and  placed  them  on  the  table  by 
Barwood.  He  began  to  examine  them  carelessly. 

"  I  did  not  know  your  father  was  a  numismat- 
ist," said  he. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Nina,  "  he  always  had  a  great 
taste  in  that  way.  His  collection  now  is  nothing. 
When  we  broke  up  in  Richmond  most  of  it  was 
sold  off.  He  retained  only  a  few  of  the  most  valu- 
able pieces,  which  he  keeps  in  a  case  in  his  room. 
I  don't  know  much  about  such  things,  for  my  part. 
Here  is  one  that  is  considered  curious.  It  was 
taken  out  of  a  wreck  on  the  California  coast,  I  be- 
lieve, and  was  the  last  papa  bought  before  his 
failure.  I  think  it  is  Russian,  perhaps,  or  Arabic 
-r-no,  let  me  see" — 

Barwood,  with  an  abstracted  air,  took  it  to  ex- 
amine.  Suddenly  he  uttered  a  strange  exclamation 
and  fell  back  in  his  chair,  pale,  trembling,  almost 
fainting. 

The  coin  was  a  Jewish  shekel,  with  a  cross  cut  through 
at  one  side. 

He  pleaded  sudden  illness,  and  rode  hastily 
homeward  in  a  state  of  indescribable  agitation. 


112  ONE  OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES. 

V. 

YOUNG    FORTINBRAS. 

BARWOOD'S  strange  and  almost  forgotten  concep- 
tion was  thus  at  length  realized,  and  the  interest 
with  which  it  had  inspired  him  intensely  revived. 
One  of  the  fatal  pieces  was  found.  He  would  now 
fain  have  overthrown  the  structure  of  probabilities 
which  he  had  labored  so  painfully  to  elaborate. 
He  reviewed  step  by  step  all  the  details  of  his 
former  study  ;  but  no  argument  availed  in  the  face 
of  the  extraordinary  corroboration  now  offered. 
The  piece  was  "  stamped  with  a  mark  in  shape 
like  a  cross,"  and  the  account  of  Irenaeus  was  veri 
fied. 

That  this  fatal  piece  should  appear  in  the  hands 
of  the  people  whom  of  all  others  he  most  esteemed 
and  with  whom  his  own  fortunes  were  most  in- 
timately bound  up,  was  a  terrible  shock.  This, 
then,  was  the  clew  to  the  catalogue  of  Holbrook's 
misfortunes.  What  surpassing  crime  could  the  old 
man  have  committed  to  be  so  signally  marked  out 
for  vengeance  ?  But  the  question  of  most  vital  in- 
terest was  what  could  be  done  to  save  the  family 
so  dear  to  him  from  their  impending  fate. 

With  the  recovery  of  some  calmness,  he  felt  that 
his  first  duty  was  to  remove  the  coin  from  their 
possession.  But  how  was  it  to  be  done  ?  He  could 
not  disclose  his  knowledge  of  its  baleful  properties. 


ONE   OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES.  113 

It  would  be  set  down  as  the  vagary  of  a  disordered 
brain;  nobody  would  entertain  it  for  an  instant. 
His  object  must  be  accomplished,  if  at  all,  by 
artifice. 

When  he  next  rode  to  the  farm,  nearly  a  week 
had  elapsed  since  the  evening  into  which  so  many 
distracting  emotions  had  been  crowded.  He  ex- 
erted himself  to  display  unusual  cheerfulness,  with 
the  double  object  of  removing  any  disagreeable  im- 
pression which  might  have  been  the  result  of  his 
sudden  departure  on  that  occasion,  and  also  of 
finding  means  to  forward  his  purpose.  The  sub- 
ject uppermost  in  the  thoughts  of  both  was  at  first 
carefully  avoided,  and  they  talked  much  in  their 
usual  fashion. 

"  Those  coins,  Miss  Nina,  which  were  used  the 
other  evening  in  the  tableau/'  said  lie,  with  a 
careless  air,  "  can  I  see  them  again  ?  I  found  them 
interesting,  but  owing  to  my  sudden  illness,  as  you 
know,  had  scarcely  time  to  examine  them." 

"  My  father  was  displeased  at  me  for  taking 
them,"  said  she,  "  and  has  forbidden  me  to  do  so 
again.  I  think  he  would  show  them  to  you  him- 
self with  pleasure,  if  he  were  here,  but  he  went 
North  yesterday  on  business  which  will  detain  him 
a  week.  He  took  the  key  of  his  cabinet  with 
him." 

Disappointed  in  this,  there  seemed  to  be  for  the 
present  no  resource.  He  recurred  again  to  his 
love.  If  she  would  consent  to  be  his,  he  thought, 
he  might  disclose  the  danger,  and  they  could  plan 


H4  ONE  OF  THE    THIRTY  PIECES. 

together  to  avert  it.  He  told  her  with  what 
anxiety  he  had  been  awaiting  her  decision,  and 
then  once  more  made  his  appeal  with  all  the  ardor 
at  his  command.  As  he  finished,  standing  close 
beside  her,  he  took  her  hand. 

She  did  not  withdraw  it,  but  still  went  on  to  tell 
him  with  great  calmness  and  dignity  that  what  he 
desired  could  never  be.  She  hoped  their  friend- 
ship might  always  continue,  but  as  for  a  closer  re- 
lation, it  would  be  unjust  to  him  as  well  as  herself 
to  enter  into  it  without  the  affection  which  she 
could  not  give. 

He  went  away  apparently  very  much  broken 
down,  saying  that  his  life  was  a  burden  to  him, 
and  that  he  had  no  use  for  it.  The  next  day  he 
came  again  and  acted  so  strangely,  mingling  ap- 
peals to  her  with  talk  about  her  father's  coins,  that 
she  was  a  little  frightened. 

The  few  days  that  succeeded  made  a  striking 
change  in  the  appearance  of  Barwood.  He  became 
pale  and  haggard,  and  seemed  to  have  lost  his 
capacity  for  business  and  fixed  attention.  He  sat 
staring  helplessly  at  his  papers  for  an  hour  at  a 
time.  The  general,  who  with  all  his  iniquities  was 
a  good-hearted  chief,  thought  he  was  sick,  and  told 
him  to  stay  at  home  and  take  care  of  himself.  His 
reflections  at  this  time  were  tormenting.  He  saw 
that  he  had  indeed  been  drawn  within  the  influence 
of  the  fatal  coin.  It  was  at  him  that  its  malignity 
was  directed,  and  he  believed  that  his  doom  was 
approaching,  as  indeed  it  was.  Sometimes  he 


ONE   OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES.  115 

gazed  at  his  altered  face  in  the  glass,  while  tears 
streamed  down  his  cheeks.  He  said  aloud,  in  a 
piteous  tone,  "  Poor  Henry  Barwood." 

The  sympathy  of  the  world  is  generally  upon  the 
side  of  the  unsuccessful  lover.  He  is  considered  to 
have  been  defrauded  of  happiness  which  should  by 
right  have  been  his.  But  is  it  fair  ?  Because  her 
face  is  sweet,  her  manners  are  amiable,  her  form  is 
slender  and  graceful,  and  her  hair  has  a  golden 
shine,  and  Barwood  or  Brown  or  Travers,  as  the 
case  may  be,  in  common  with  all  the  world,  recog- 
nizes it,  does  that  establish  a  claim  upon  her  ?  Just 
as  likely  as  not  he  has  a  snub  nose  and  only  fifteen 
hundred  a  year,  and  cannot  dance  the  Boston. 
No  !  sympathy  is  well  enough,  but  let  not  the 
blame  be  cast  upon  Chloe  every  time  that  Daphnis 
goes  off  in  despair  to  the  Sandwich  Islands,  or  the 
war  in  Cuba,  or  turns  out  a  good-for-nothing  sot. 
Let  it  rather  be  set  down  as  one  of  the  ill-adjust- 
ments of  which  there  are  so  many  in  life,  and  the 
endurance  of  which  is  no  doubt  of  service  in  some 
direction  not  yet  fully  understood. 

In  about  a  week  there  came  from  Holbrook 
Farm  a  message  which  was  not  needed  to  complete 
the  measure  of  Barwood's  unhappiness. 

"  My  father,"  wrote  Nina,  "  has  just  returned. 
He  has  decided  that  we  are  to  remove  permanently 
to  Connecticut,  where  my  aunt  has  fallen  heir  to 
the  Holbrook  homestead.  We  shall  leave  next 
Monday.  Will  you  let  us  see  you  before  we  go  ?" 

He  mounted  his  horse  and  started  at  once.     He 


Il6  ONE    OF  THE    THIRTY  PIECES. 

did  not  know  exactly  what  he  should  do  or  say. 
His  ideas  were  in  a  state  of  confusion,  and  there 
was  a  numbness  over  all  his  sensations.  He  gave 
himself  up  blindly  to  his  destiny. 

He  saw  Nina  sitting  in  the  shade  of  an  apple- 
tree,  half-way  down  the  lawn,  near  a  little  plateau 
which  served  for  a  croquet  ground.  He  tied  his 
horse  to  the  fence  outside,  much  to  the  disappoint- 
ment of  the  rollicking  negro  boys,  and  walked  up. 
Nina  held  in  her  lap  a  tray  of  coins  which  she  was 
engaged  in  brightening.  She  assumed  a  sprightli- 
ness  not  quite  natural,  and  evidently  designed  to 
obviate  the  awkwardness  of  their  peculiar  relation. 

"We  have  had  an  accident,"  said  she.  "One 
of  our  chimneys  fell  through  the  roof  during  the 
storm  last  night.  It  shook  down  the  plaster  upon 
papa's  cabinet.  The  glass  was  broken  and  the  rain 
came  in  so  that  this  morning  it  was  in  a  sorry  con- 
dition. I  am  repairing  damages,  you  see.  If  I 
were  superstitious,"  she  continued,  "  I  should 
fear  that  something  was  going  to  happen.  I  meet 
with  so  many  omens  lately.  I  spill  salt,  cross 
funerals,  and  make  one  of  thirteen  at  dinner  par- 
ties." 

Barwood  replied  as  best  he  could  ;  he  did  not 
know  exactly  what.  He  was  in  no  mood  for  flip- 
pancy. He  assumed  a  dozen  different  positions  in 
a  short  space  :  first  sitting  on  a  camp-chair  beside 
her,  then  hurried  walking  up  and  down,  then  care- 
less prostration  upon  the  grass.  The  old,  useless 
argument  was  gone  through  with  again.  She  told 


ONE   OF   THE    THIRTY  PIECES.  ilf 

him  at  last  that  it  annoyed  her,  that  he  was  very 
inconsiderate.  Then  again  he  paced  up  and  down 
the  little  croquet  ground.  She  saw  him  twisting 
and  clutching  his  hands  together  behind  him.  At 
the  fifth  or  sixth  turn  as  he  came  by  she  had  the 
marked  shekel  in  her  hand.  He  took  it  from  her 
and  looked  at  it  curiously. 

"  Yes,  it  is  indeed,"  said  he  in  an  unnatural 
voice,  "  fatal  money,  and  I  am  its  latest  victim  !" 

He  threw  it  towards  the  woods  with  great  force. 

It  rose  high  in  the  air,  skimmed  the  trees,  and 
they  saw  it  twinkle  into  the  brook. 

It  was  a  very  little  incident.  No  magic  hand 
arose  from  the  water.  The  beauty  of  the  August 
day  was  not  marred.  The  rain  of  the  past  night 
had  swollen  the  brook,  which  ran  hurriedly  on  to 
the  Potomac,  making  little  of  this  trivial  addition 
to  its  burdens. 

Nina  did  not  reproach  him.  She  felt  that  her 
father  would  consider  the  loss  irreparable,  yet  she 
had  no  words  for  this  extraordinary  rudeness. 
After  two  or  three  turns  more  in  his  walk  he 
stopped  close  beside  her. 

"For  the  last  time,"  said  he,  "  have  I  urged 
everything,  and  is  it  of  no  use  ?" 

She  made  no  answer. 

"  You  have  said  so  ?"  he  persisted. 

"  Yes,  I  have  said  so,"  she  replied,  with  a  touch 
of  impatience,  and  without  raising  her  eyes.  "  I 
am  engaged  to  Mars  Brown." 

He  went  forward  several  steps  and  stood  still. 


Il8  ONE   OF    THE    THIRTY  PIECES. 

Glancing  up  she  saw  him  hold  a  little  revolver  to 
his  temple.  It  was  one  she  had  known  him  to 
carry  for  protection  when  riding  late  in  the  even- 
ing. He  seemed  to  deliberate  one  terrible  moment, 
while  she  sat  spell-bound  as  if  by  nightmare,  and 
then  he  fired  and  fell. 

She  tried  to  reach  his  body,  but  fainted  on  the 
way.  Mars  Brown,  riding  to  Holbrook  for  a  half- 
holiday,  was  almost  within  sight. 

Upon  the  closing  scene  of  Hamlet,  where  the 
characters,  after  a  period  of  stormy  conflict  and 
exquisite  anguish,  lie  strewn  by  violent  death,  ar- 
rives young  Fortinbras  at  the  head  of  his  marching 
army.  Tall,  sturdy,  elastic,  dressed  in  chain-mail, 
victorious,  careless,  the  impersonation  of  ruddy 
life,  the  young  Norway  conqueror  leans  upon  his 
sword  above  the  pitiable  sight. 

So  this  brilliant  young  man,  elegant  in  figure, 
well  dressed,  joyous,  cynical,  came  whistling  up 
the  path.  He  cut  off  the  clover  tops  with  his  walk- 
ing-stick. The  butterflies,  the  pleasant  aromas, 
and  all  the  manifestations  of  rural  beauty  pleased 
him. 

"  Egad,"  said  he,  "  this  isn't  so  bad,  you 
know." 

In  a  moment  he  stood  by  the  apple-tree,  and  the 
whole  sad  spectacle  was  before  him. 

The  telegraphic  column  of  a  New  York  news- 
paper gave  the  story  next  morning,  in  the  conven- 
tional manner,  as  follows  : 


ONE   OF    THE    THIRTY  PIECES.  119 

"  Henry  Barwood,  a  treasury  clerk,  was  killed 
yesterday  at  the  Holbrook  estate  near  Washington, 
by  the  discharge  of  a  pistol  in  his  own  hands.  The 
shooting  is  thought  to  have  been  accidental, 
although  he  had  been  ill  and  depressed  for  some 
days,  and  is  said  to  have  shown  symptoms  of  in- 
sanity on  former  occasions." 


BALACCHI  BROTHERS. 

Bv  REBECCA  HARDING  DAVIS. 


ttr  I  "'HERE'S  a  man,  now,  that  has  been  famous 
-L   in  his  time,"  said  Davidge,  as  we  passed  the 
mill,  glancing  in  at  the  sunny  gap  in  the  side  of 
the  building. 

I  paused  incredulously :  Phil's  lion  so  often 
turned  out  to  be  Snug  the  joiner.  Phil  was  my 
chum  at  college,  and  in  inviting  me  home  to  spend 
the  vacation  with  him  I  thought  he  had  fancied  the 
resources  of  his  village  larger  than  they  proved. 
In  the  two  days  since  we  came  we  had  examined  the 
old  doctor's  cabinet,  listened  superciliously  to  a  de- 
bate in  the  literary  club  upon  the  Evils  of  the  Stage, 
and  passed  two  solid  afternoons  in  the  circle  about 
the  stove  in  the  drug-shop,  where  the  squire  and 
the  Methodist  parson,  and  even  the  mild,  white- 
cravated  young  rector  of  St.  Mark's,  were  wont  to 
sharpen  their  wits  by  friction.  What  more  was 

•*»  Lippincotfs  Magazine^  July,  1872. 


B  A  LA  CCll  I  BROTHERS.  121 

left  ?  I  was  positive  that  I  knew  the  mental  gauge 
of  every  man  in  the  village. 

A  little  earlier  or  later  in  life  a  gun  or  fishing-rod 
would  have  satisfied  me.  The  sleepy,  sunny  little 
market-town  was  shut  in  by  the  bronzed  autumn 
meadows,  that  sent  their  long  groping  fingers  of 
grass  or  parti-colored  weeds  drowsily  up  into  the 
very  streets  :  there  were  ranges  of  hills  and  heavy 
stretches  of  oak  and  beech  woods,  too,  through 
which  crept  glittering  creeks  full  of  trout.  But  I 
was  just  at  that  age  when  the  soul  disdains  all  aim- 
less pleasures  :  my  game  was  Man.  I  was  busy  in 
philosophically  testing,  weighing,  labelling  human 
nature. 

"  Famous,  eh  ?"  I  said,  looking  after  the  pursy 
figure  of  the  miller  in  his  floury  canvas  round- 
about and  corduroy  trowseio,  trotting  up  and  down 
among  the  bags. 

"  That  is  one  of  the  Balacchi  Brothers,"  Phil  an- 
swered as  we  walked  on.  "  You've  heard  of  them 
when  you  were  a  boy?" 

I  had  heard  of  them.  The  great  acrobats  were  as 
noted  in  their  line  of  art  as  Ellsler  and  Jenny  Lind 
in  theirs.  But  acrobats  and  danseuses,  had  been 
alike  brilliant,  wicked  impossibilities  to  my  youth, 
for  I  had  been  reared  a  Covenanter  of  the  Covenant- 
ers. In  spite  of  the  doubting  philosophies  with 
which  I  had  clothed  myself  at  college,  that  old  Pres- 
byterian training  clung  to  me  in  every-day  life  close 
as  my  skin. 

After  that  day  I  loitered  about  the  mill,  watching 


122  BALACCHI  BROTHERS. 

this  man,  whose  life  had  been  spent  in  one  godless 
theatre  after  another,  very  much  as  the  Florentine 
peasants  looked  after  Dante  when  they  knew  he 
had  come  back  from  hell.  I  was  on  the  lookout 
for  the  taint,  the  abnormal  signs,  of  vice.  It  was 
about  that  time  that  I  was  fevered  with  the  mis- 
sionary enthusiasm,  and  in  Polynesia,  where  I 
meant  to  go  (but  where  I  never  did  go),  I  declared 
to  Phil  daily  that  I  should  find  in  every  cannibal 
the  half-effaced  image  of  God,  only  waiting  to  be 
quickened  into  grace  and  virtue.  That  was  quite 
conceivable.  But  that  a  flashy,  God-defying  actor 
could  be  the  same  man  at  heart  as  this  fat,  good- 
tempered,  gossiping  miller,  who  jogged  to  the 
butcher's  every  morning  for  his  wife,  a  basket  on  one 
arm  and  a  baby  on  the  other,  was  not  conceivable. 
He  was  a  close  dealer  at  the  butcher's,  too,  though 
dribbling  gossip  there  as  everywhere ;  a  regular 
attendant  at  St.  Mark's,  with  his  sandy-headed  flock 
about  him,  among  whom  he  slept  comfortably 
enough,  it  is  true,  but  with  as  pious  dispositions  as 
the  rest  of  us. 

I  remember  how  I  watched  this  man,  week  in  and 
week  out.  It  was  a  trivial  matter,  but  it  irritated 
me  unendurably  to  find  that  this  circus-rider  had 
human  blood  precisely  like  my  owr> '.  it  outraged 
my  early  religion. 

We  talk  a  great  deal  of  the  rose-colored  illusions 
in  which  youth  wraps  the  world,  and  the  agony  it 
suffers  as  they  are  stripped  from  its  bare,  hard  face. 
But  the  fact  is,  that  youth  (aside  from  its  narrow. 


BALACCHI  BROTHERS.  123 

passionate  friendships)  is  usually  apt  to  be  acrid 
and  watery  and  sour  in  its  judgment  and  creeds  — 
it  has  the  quality  of  any  other  unripe  fruit :  it  is 
middle  age  that  is  just  and  tolerant,  that  has  found 
room  enough  in  the  world  for  itself  and  all  human 
flies  to  buzz  out  their  lives  good-humoredly  togeth- 
er. It  is  youth  who  can  see  a  tangible  devil  at 
work  in  every  party  or  sect  opposed  to  its  own, 
whose  enemy  is  always  a  villain,  and  who  finds 
treachery  and  falsehood  in  the  friend  who  is  occa- 
sionally bored  or  indifferent :  it  is  middle  age  that 
has  discovered  the  reasonable  sweet  juste  milieu 
of  human  nature — who  knows  few  saints  perhaps, 
but  is  apt  to  find  its  friend  and  grocer  and  shoe- 
maker agreeable  and  honest  fellows.  It  is  these 
vehement  illusions,  these  inherited  bigotries  and 
prejudices,  that  tear  and  cripple  a  young  man  as 
they  are  taken  from  him  one  by  one.  He  creeps 
out  of  them  as  a  crab  from  the  shell  that  has  grown 
too  small  for  him,  but  he  thinks  he  has  left  his  iden- 
tity behind  him. 

It  was  such  a  reason  as  this  that  made  me  follow 
the  miller  assiduously,  and  cultivate  a  quasi  inti- 
macy with  him,  in  the  course  of  which  I  picked  the 
following  story  from  him.  It  was  told  at  divers 
times,  and  with  many  interruptions  and  questions 
from  me.  But  for  obvious  reasons  I  have  made  it 
continuous.  It  had  its  meaning  to  me,  coarse  and 
common  though  it  was  —  the  same  which  Christ 
taught  in  the  divine  beauty  of  His  parables. 
Whether  that  meaning  might  not  be  found  in  the 


124  BALACCHI  BROTHERS. 

history  of  every  human  life,  if  we  had  eyes  to  read 
it,  is  matter  for  question. 

Balacchi  Brothers?  And  you've  heard  of  them, 
eh?  Well,  well!  (with  a  pleased  nod,  rubbing  his 
hands  on  his  knees).  Yes,  sir.  Fifteen  years  ago 
they  were  known  as  The  Admirable  Crichtons  of 
the  Ring.  It  was  George  who  got  up  that  name : 
I  did  not  see  the  force  of  it.  But  no  name  could 
claim  too  much  for  us.  Why,  I  could  show  you 
notices  in  the  newspapers  that —  I  used  to  clip 
them  out  and  stuff  my  pocket-book  with  them  as  we 
went  along,  but  after  I  quit  the  business  I  pasted 
them  in  an  old  ledger,  and  I  often  now  read  them 
of  nights.  No  doubt  I  lost  a  good  many,  too. 

Yes,  sir  :  I  was  one  of  Balacchi  Brothers.  My 
name  is  Zack  Loper.  And  it  was  then,  of  course. 

You  think  we  would  have  plenty  of  adventures  ? 
Well,  no — not  a  great  many.  There's  a  good  deal 
of  monotony  in  the  business.  Towns  seem  always 
pretty  much  alike  to  me.  And  there  was  such  a 
deal  of  rehearsing  to  be  done  by  day  and  at  night. 
I  looked  at  nothing  but  the  rope  and  George  :  the 
audience  was  nothing  but  a  packed  flat  surface  of 
upturned,  staring  eyes  and  half-open  mouths.  It 
was  an  odd  sight,  yes,  when  you  come  to  think  of 
it.  I  never  was  one  for  adventures.  I  was  mostly 
set  upon  shaving  close  through  the  week,  so  that 
when  Saturday  night  came  I'd  have  something  to 
lay  by  ;  I  had  this  mill  in  my  mind,  you  see.  I  was 
married,  and  had  my  wife  and  a  baby  that  I'd  never 


BALACCHI  BROTHERS.  125 

seen  waiting  for  me  at  home.  I  was  brought  up 
to  milling,  but  the  trapeze  paid  better.  I  took  .to 
it  naturally,  as  one  might  say. 

But  George! — he  had  adventures  every  week. 
And  as  for  acquaintances  !  Why,  before  we'd  be  in 
a  town  two  days  he'd  be  hail-fellow-well-met  with 
half  the  people  in  it.  That  fellow  could  scent  a 
dance  or  a  joke  half  a  mile  off.  You  never  see  such 
wide-awake  men  nowadays.  People  seem  to  me 
half  dead  or  asleep  when  I  think  of  him. 

Oh,  I  thought  you  knew.  My  partner  Balacchi. 
It  was  Balacchi  on  the  bill :  the  actors  called  him 
Signer,  and  people  like  the  manager,  South,  and 
we,  who  knew  him  well,  George.  I  asked  him  his 
real  name  once  or  twice,  but  he  joked  it  off.  "  How 
many  names  must  a  man  be  saddled  with  ?"  he  said. 
I  don't  know  it  to  this  day,  nor  who  he  had  been. 
They  hinted  there  was  something  queer  about  his 
story,  but  I'll  go  my  bail  it  was  a  clean  one,  what- 
ever it  was. 

You  never  heard  how  "  Balacchi  Brothers' '  broke 
up  ?  That  was  as  near  to  an  adventure  as  I  ever  had. 
Come  over  to  this  bench  and  I'll  tell  it  to  you.  You 
don't  dislike  the  dust  of  the  mill  ?  The  sun's  pleas- 
anter  on  this  side. 

It  was  early  in  August  of  '56  when  George  and  I 
came  to  an  old  town  on  the  Ohio,  half  city,  half 
village,  to  play  an  engagement.  We  were  under 
contract  with  South  then,  who  provided  the  rest  of 
the  troupe,  three  or  four  posture-girls,  Stradi  the 
pianist,  and  a  Madame  Somebody,  who  gave  read- 


126  BALACCHI  BROTHERS. 

ings  and  sang.  "Concert"  was  the  heading  in 
large  caps  on  the  bills,  "  Balacchi  Brothers  will 
give  their  aesthetic  tableaux  vivants  in  the  interludes," 
in  agate  below. 

"  I've  got  to  cover  you  fellows  over  with  respect- 
ability here,"  South  said.  "  Rope-dancing  won't  go 
down  with  these  aristocratic  church-goers." 

I  remember  how  George  was  irritated.  "  When 
I  was  my  own  agent,"  he  said,  "  I  only  went  to  the 
cities.  Educated  people  can  appreciate  what  we 
do,  but  in  these  country  towns  we  rank  with  circus- 
riders."  ^ 

George  had  some  queer  notions  about  his  busi- 
ness. He  followed  it  for  sheer  love  of  it,  as  I  did 
for  money.  I've  seen  all  the  great  athletes  since, 
but  I  never  saw  one  with  his  wonderful  skill  and 
strength,  and  with  the  grace  of  a  woman  too,  or  a 
deer.  Now  that  takes  hard,  steady  work,  but  he 
never  flinched  from  it,  as  I  did ;  and  when  night 
came,  and  the  people  and  lights,  and  I  thought  of 
nothing  but  to  get  through,  I  used  to  think  he  had 
the  pride  of  a  thousand  women  in  every  one  of  his 
muscles  and  nerves  :  a  little  applause  would  fill  him 
with  a  mad  kind  of  fury  of  delight  and  triumph. 
South  had  a  story  that  George  belonged  to  some 
old  Knickerbocker  family,  and  had  run  off  from 
home  years  ago.  I  don't  know.  There  was  that 
wild  restless  blood  in  him  that  no  home  could  have 
kept  him. 

We  were  to  stay  so  long  in  this  town  that  I  found 
rooms  for  us  with  an  old  couple  named  Peters,  who 


BALACCHI  BROTHERS.  127 

had  but  lately  moved  in  from  the  country,  and  had 
half  a  dozen  carpenters  and  masons  boarding  with 
them.  It  was  cheaper  than  the  hotel,  and  George 
preferred  that  kind  of  people  to  educated  men, 
which  made  me  doubt  that  story  of  his  having  been 
a  gentleman.  The  old  woman  Peters  was  uneasy 
about  taking  us,  and  spoke  out  quite  freely  about 
it  when  we  called,  not  knowing  that  George  and  I 
were  Balacchi  Brothers  ourselves. 

"  The  house  has  been  respectable  so  far,  gentle- 
men," she  said.  "  I  don't  know  what  about  taking 
in  them  half-naked,  drunken  play-actors.  What  do 
you  say,  Susy?"  to  her  granddaughter. 

"  Wait  till  you  see  them,  grandmother,"  the  girl 
said  gently.  "  I  should  think  that  men  whose  lives 
depended  every  night  on  their  steady  eyes  and  nerves 
would  not  dare  to  touch  liquor." 

"You  are  quite  right — nor  even  tobacco,"  said 
George.  It  was  such  a  prompt,  sensible  thing  for 
the  little  girl  to  say  that  he  looked  at  her  attentively 
a  minute,  and  then  went  up  to  the  old  lady  smiling: 
"  We  don't  look  like  drinking  men,  do  we,  madam  ?" 

"  No,  no,  sir.  I  did  not  know  that  you  were  the 
I-talians."  She  was  quite  flustered  and  frightened, 
and  said  cordially  enough  how  glad  she  was  to  have 
us  both.  But  it  was  George  she  shook  hands  with. 
There  was  something  clean  and  strong  and  inspir- 
ing about  that  man  that  made  most  women  friendly 
to  him  on  sight. 

Why,  in  two  days  you'd  have  thought  he'd  never 
had  another  home  than  the  Peters's.  He  helped  the 


128  BALACCHI  BROTHERS. 

old  man  milk,  and  had  tinkered  up  the  broken  kitch- 
en-table, and  put  in  half  a  dozen  window-panes,  and 
was  intimate  with  all  the  boarders  ;  could  give 
the  masons  the  prices  of  job-work  at  the  East,  and 
put  Stoll  the  carpenter  on  the  idea  of  contract 
houses,  out  of  which  he  afterward  made  a  fortune. 
It  was  nothing  but  jokes  and  fun  and  shouts  of 
laughter  when  he  was  in  the  house :  even  the  old 
man  brightened  up  and  told  some  capital  stories. 
But  from  the  first  I  noticed  that  George's  eye  fol- 
lowed Susy  watchfully  wherever  she  went,  though 
he  was  as  distant  and  respectful  with  her  as  he 
was  with  most  women.  He  had  a  curious  kind  of 
respect  for  women,  George  had.  Even  the  Slings- 
bys,  that  all  the  men  in  the  theatre  joked  with, 
he  used  to  pass  by  as  though  they  were  logs 
leaning  against  the  wall.  They  were  the  posture- 
girls,  and  anything  worse  besides  the  name  7 
never  saw. 

There  was  a  thing  happened  once  on  that  point 
which  I  often  thought  might  have  given  me  a  clew 
to  his  history  if  I'd  followed  it  up.  We  were  play- 
ing in  one  of  the  best  theatres  in  New  York  (they 
brought  us  into  some  opera),  and  the  boxes  were 
filled  with  fine  ladies  beautifully  dressed,  or,  I  might 
say,  half  dressed. 

George  was  in  one  of  the  wings.  "  It's  a  pretty 
sight,"  I  said  to  him, 

"It's  a  shameful  sight,"  he  said  with  an  oath. 
''The  Slingsbys  do  it  for  their  living,  but  these 
women — " 


BALACCHI  BROTHERS.  129 

I  said  they  were  ladies,  and  ought  to  be  treated 
with  respect.  I  was  amazed  at  the  heat  he  was  in. 

"  I  had  a  sister,  Zack,  and  there's  where  I  learned 
what  a  woman  should  be." 

"I  never  heard  of  your  sister,  George,"  said  I. 
I  knew  he  would  not  have  spoken  of  her  but  for 
the  heat  he  was  in. 

"  No.  I'm  as  dead  to  her,  being  what  I  am,  as 
if  I  were  six  feet  under  ground." 

I  turned  and  looked  at  him,  and  when  I  saw  his 
face  I  said  no  more,  and  I  never  spoke  of  it  again. 
It  was  something  neither  I  nor  any  other  man  had 
any  business  with. 

So,  when  I  saw  how  he  was  touched  by  Susy  and 
drawn  toward  her,  it  raised  her  in  my  opinion, 
though  I'd  seen  myself  how  pretty  and  sensible  a 
little  body  she  was.  But  I  was  sorry,  for  I  knew 
'twan't  no  use.  The  Peterses  were  Methodists, 
and  Susy  more  strict  than  any  of  them  ;  and  I  saw 
she  looked  on  the  'theatre  as  the  gate  of  hell,  and 
George  and  me  swinging  over  it. 

I  don't  think,  though,  that  George  saw  how 
strong  her  feeling  about  it  was,  for  after  we'd  been 
there  a  week  or  two  he  began  to  ask  her  to  go  and 
see  us  perform,  if  only  for  once.  I  believe  he 
thought  the  girl  would  come  to  love  him  if  she  saw 
him  at  his  best.  I  don't  wonder  at  it,  sir.  I've  seen 
those  pictures  and  statues  they've  made  of  the  old 
gods,  and  I  reckon  they  put  in  them  the  best  they 
thought  a  man  could  be ;  but  I  never  knew  what 
real  manhood  was  until  I  saw  my  partner  when  he 


130  BALACCH1  BROTHERS. 

stood  quiet  on  the  stage  waiting  the  signal  to  begin 
the  light  full  on  his  keen  blue  eyes,  the  gold- 
worked  velvet  tunic,  and  his  perfect  figure. 

He  looked  more  like  other  men  in  his  ordinary 
clothing.  George  liked  a  bit  of  flash,  too,  in  his 
dress — a  red  necktie  or  gold  chain  stretched  over 
his  waistcoat. 

Susy  refused  at  first,  steadily.  At  last,  however, 
came  our  final  night,  when  George  was  to  produce 
his  great  leaping  feat,  never  yet  performed  in  public. 
We  had  been  practising  it  for  months,  and  South 
judged  it  best  to  try  it  first  before  a  small,  quiet 
audience,  for  the  risk  was  horrible.  Whether, 
because  it  was  to  be  the  last  night,  and  her  kind 
heart  disliked  to  hurt  him  by  refusal,  or  whether 
she  loved  him  better  than  either  she  or  he  knew,  I 
could  not  tell,  but  I  saw  she  was  strongly  tempted 
to  go.  She  was  an  innocent  little  thing,  and  not 
used  to  hide  what  she  felt.  Her  eyes  were  red  that 
morning,  as  though  she  had  been  crying  all  the 
night.  Perhaps,  because  I  was  a  married  man,  and 
quieter  than  George,  she  acted  more  freely  with  me 
than  him. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  what  to  do,"  she  said,  looking  up 
to  me  with  her  eyes  full  of  tears.  There  was  nobody 
in  the  room  but  her  grandmother. 

"  I  couldn't  advise  you,  Miss  Susy,"  says  I. 
"  Your  church  discipline  goes  against  our  trade,  I 
know. " 

"  I  know  what's  right  myself :  I  don't  neec' 
church  discipline  to  teach  me,"  she  said  sharply. 


BALACCHI  BROTHERS.  131 

"  I  think  I'd  go,  Susy,"  said  her  grandmother. 
"  It  is  a  concert,  after  all :  it's  not  a  play." 

"  The  name  doesn't  alter  it." 

Seeing  the  temper  she  was  in,  I  thought  it  best  to 
say  no  more,  but  the  old  lady  added,  "  It's  Mr. 
George's  last  night.  Dear,  dear  !  how  I'll  miss  him  !" 

Susy  turned  quickly  to  the  window.  "  Why  does 
he  follow  such  godless  ways  then  ?"  she  cried.  She 
stood  still  a  good  while;  and  when  she  turned  about 
her  pale  little  face  made  my  heart  ache.  "I'll  take 
home  Mrs.  Tyson's  dress  now,  grandmother,"  she 
said,  and  went  out  of  the  room.  I  forgot  to  tell  you 
Susy  was  a  seamstress.  Well,  the  bundle  was  large, 
and  I  offered  to  carry  it  for  her,  as  the  time  for  rehear- 
sal did  not  come  till  noon.  She  crept  alongside  of 
me  without  a  word,  looking  weak  and  done-out :  she 
was  always  so  busy  and  bright,  it  was  the  more 
noticeable.  The  house  where  the  dress  was  to  go  was 
one  of  the  largest  in  the  town.  The  servant  show- 
ed us  into  a  back  parlor,  and  took  the  dress  up  to 
her  mistress.  I  looked  around  me  a  good  deal,  for 
I'd  never  been  in  such  a  house  before;  but  very 
soon  I  caught  sight  of  a  lady  who  made  me  forget 
carpets  and  pictures.  I  only  saw  her  in  the  mirror, 
for  she  was  standing  by  the  fireplace  in  the  front 
room.  The  door  was  open  between.  It  wasn't  that 
she  was  especially  pretty,  but  in  her  white  morning- 
dress,  with  lace  about  her  throat  and  her  fair  hair 
drawn  back  from  her  face>  I  thought  she  was  the 
delicatest,  softest,  finest  thing  of  man-  or  woman- 
kind I  ever  saw. 


133  BALACCHI  BROTHERS. 

"  Look  there,  Susy  !  look  there  !"  I  whispered. 

"It  is  a  Mrs.  Lloyd  from  New  York.  She  is  here 
on  a  visit.  That  is  her  husband ;"  and  then  she 
went  down  into  her  own  gloomy  thoughts  again. 

The  husband  was  a  grave,  middle-aged  man.  He 
had  had  his  paper  up  before  his  face,  so  that  I  had 
not  seen  him  before. 

"  You  will  go  for  the  tickets,  then,  Edward  ?"  she 
said. 

"If  you  make  a  point  of  it,  yes,"  in  an  annoyed 
tone.  "  But  I  don't  know  why  you  make  a  point  of 
it.  The  musical  part  of  the  performance  is  beneath 
contempt,  I  understand,  and  the  real  attraction  is 
the  exhibition  of  these  mountebanks  of  trapezists, 
which  will  be  simply  disgusting  to  you.  You 
would  not  encourage  such  people  at  home  :  why 
would  you  do  it  here  ?" 

"  They  are  not  necessarily  wicked."  I  noticed 
there  was  a  curious  unsteadiness  in  her  voice,  as 
though  she  was  hurt  and  agitated.  I  thought 
perhaps  she  knew  I  was  there. 

"  There  is  very  little  hope  of  any  redeeming 
qualities  in  men  who  make  a  trade  of  twisting  their 
bodies  like  apes,"  he  said.  "  Contortionists  and 
ballet-dancers  and  clowns  and  harlequins — "  he  rat- 
tled all  the  names  over  with  a  good  deal  of  uncalled- 
for  sharpness,  I  thought,  calling  them  "  dissolute 
and  degraded,  the  very  offal  of  humanity. "  I  could 
not  understand  his  heat  until  he  added,  "  I  never 
could  comorehend  vour  interest  and  sympathy  for 
that  especial  class,  Ellinor." 


BALACCHI  BROTHERS.  133 

"No,  you  could  not,  Edward,"  she  said  quietly. 
"  But  I  have  it.  I  never  have  seen  an  exhibition  of 
the  kind.  But  I  want  to  see  this  to-night,  if  you 
will  gratify  me.  I  have  no  reason."  she  added 
when  he  looked  at  her  curiously.  "  The  desire  is 
unaccountable  to  myself." 

The  straightforward  look  of  her  blue  eyes  as  she 
met  his  seemed  strangely  familiar  and  friendly  to 
me. 

At  that  moment  Susy  stood  up  to  go.  Her  cheeks 
were  burning  and  her  eyes  sparkling.  "  Dissolute 
and  degraded  !"  she  said  again  and  again  when  we 
were  outside.  But  I  took  no  notice. 

As  we  reached  the  house  she  stopped  me  when  I 
turned  off  to  go  to  rehearsal.  "  You'll  get  seats  for 
grandmother  and  me,  Mr.  Balacchi  ?"  she  said. 

"You're  going,  then,  Susy?" 

"Yes,  I'm  going." 

Now  the  house  in  which  we  performed  was  a 
queer  structure.  A  stock  company,  thinking  there 
was  a  field  for  a  theatre  in  the  town,  had  taken  a 
four-story  building,  gutted  the  interior,  and  fitted 
it  up  with  tiers  of  seats  and  scenery.  The  stock 
company  was  starved  out,  however,  and  left  the 
town,  and  the  theatre  was  used  as  a  gymnasium,  a 
concert-room,  or  a  church  by  turns.  Its  peculiarity 
was,  that  it  was  both  exceedingly  lofty  and  narrow, 
which  suited  our  purpose  exactly. 

It  was  packed  that  night  from  dome  to  pit. 
George  and  I  had  rehearsed  our  new  act  both  morn- 


134  BALACCHI  BROTHERS. 

ing  and  afternoon,  South  watching  us  without  inter- 
mission. South  was  terribly  nervous  and  anxious, 
half  disposed,  at  the  last  minute,  to  forbid  it,  al- 
though it  had  been  announced  on  the  bills  for  a 
week.  But  a  feat  which  is  successful  in  an  empty 
house,  with  but  one  spectator,  when  your  nerves  are 
quiet  and  blood  cool,  is  a  different  thing  before  an 
excited,  terrified,  noisy  audience,  your  whole  body 
at  fever  heat.  However,  George  was  cool  as  a  cu- 
cumber, indeed  almost  indifferent  about  the  act,  but 
in  a  mad,  boyish  glee  all  day  about  everything  else. 
I  suppose  the  reason  was  that  Susy  was  going. 

South  had  lighted  the  house  brilliantly  and 
brought  in  a  band.  And  all  classes  of  people  pour- 
ed into  the  theatre  until  it  could  hold  no  more.  I 
saw  Mrs.  Peters  in  one  of  the  side-seats,  with  Susy's 
blushing,  frightened  little  face  beside  her.  George, 
standing  back  among  the  scenes,  saw  her  too:  I 
think,  indeed,  it  was  all  he  did  see. 

There  were  the  usual  readings  from  Shakespeare 
at  first. 

While  Madame  was  on,  South  came  to  us. 
"Boys,"  said  he,  "  let  this  matter  go  over  a  few 
weeks.  A  little  more  practice  will  do  you  no  harm. 
Vou  can  substitute  some  other  trick,  and  these  peo- 
ple will  be  none  the  wiser." 

George  shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently: 
'*  Nonsense !  When  did  you  grow  so  chicken-heart- 
ed, South  ?  It  is  I  who  have  to  run  the  risk,  I 
fancy. " 

I  suppose  South's  uneasiness   had   infected  me. 


BALACCHI  BROTHERS.  135 

"  I  am  quite  willing  to  put  it  off,"  I  said.  I  had 
felt  gloomy  and  superstitious  all  day.  But  I  never 
ventured  to  oppose  George  more  decidedly  than 
that 

He  only  laughed  by  way  of  reply,  and  went  off  to 
dress.  South  looked  after  him,  I  remember,  say- 
ing what  a  magnificently-built  fellow  he  was.  If 
we  could  only  have  seen  the  end  of  that  night's 
work  ! 

As  I  went  to  my  dressing-room  I  saw  Mrs.  Lloyd 
and  her  husband  in  one  of  the  stage-boxes,  with  one 
or  two  other  ladies  and  gentlemen.  She  was  plain- 
ly and  darkly  dressed,  but  to  my  mind  she  looked 
like  a  princess  among  them  all.  I  could  not  but  won- 
der what  interest  she  could  have  in  such  a  rough  set 
as  we,  although  her  husband,  I  confess,  did  judge 
us  hardly. 

After  the  readings  came  the  concert  part  of  the 
performance,  and  then  what  South  chose  to  call  the 
Moving  Tableaux,  which  was  really  nothing  in  the 
world  but  ballet-dancing.  George  and  I  were  left 
to  crown  the  whole.  I  had  some  ordinary  trapeze- 
work  to  do  do  at  first,  but  George  was  reserved  for 
the  new  feat,  in  order  that  his  nerves  might  be  per- 
fectly unshaken.  When  I  went  out  alone  and  bow- 
ed to  the  audience,  I  observed  that  Mrs.  Lloyd  was 
leaning  eagerly  forward,  but  at  the  first  glance  at 
my  face  she  sank  back  with  a  look  of  relief,  and 
turned  away,  that  she  might  not  see  my  exploits. 
It  nettled  me  a  little,  I  think,  yet  they  were  worth 
watching. 


I3<$  SALACCHI  BROTHERS. 

Well,  I  finished,  and  then  there  was  a  song  to  give 
me  time  to  cool.  I  went  to  the  side-scenes  where  I 
could  be  alone,  for  that  five  minutes.  I  had  no  risk 
to  run  in  the  grand  feat,  you  see,  but  I  had  George's 
life  in  my  hands.  I  haven't  told  you  yet — have  I  ? 
— what  it  was  he  proposed  to  do. 

A  rope  was  suspended  from  the  centre  of  the 
dome,  the  lower  end  of  which  I  held,  standing  in 
the  highest  gallery  opposite  the  stage.  Above  the 
stage  hung  the  trapeze  on  which  George  and  the 
two  posture-girls  were  to  be.  At  a  certain  signal  I 
was  to  let  the  rope  go,  and  George,  springing  from 
the  trapeze  across  the  full  width  of  the  dome,  was 
to  catch  it  in  mid-air,  a  hundred  feet  above  the  heads 
of  the  people.  You  understand  ?  The  mistake  of 
an  instant  of  time  on  either  his  part  or  mine,  and 
death  was  almost  certain.  The  plan  we  had  thought 
surest  was  for  South  to  give  the  word,  and  then  that 
both  should  count — One,  Two,  Three !  At  Three 
the  rope  fell,  and  he  leaped.  We  had  practised  so 
often  that  we  thought  we  counted  as  one  man. 

When  the  song  was  over  the  men  hung  the  rope 
aud  the  trapeze.  Jenny  and  Lou  Slingsby  swung 
themselves  up  to  it,  turned  a  few  somersaults  and 
then  were  quiet.  They  were  only  meant  to  give 
effect  to  the  scene  in  their  gauzy  dresses  and 
spangles.  Then  South  came  forward  and  told  the 
audience  what  we  meant  to  do.  It  was  a  feat,  he 
said,  which  had  never  been  produced  before  in  any 
theatre,  and  in  which  failure  was  death.  No  one 
but  that  most  daring  of  all  acrobats,  Balacchi, 


BALACCHI  BROTHERS.  137 

would  attempt  it.  Now  I  knew  South  so  well  that 
I  saw  under  all  his  confident,  bragging  tone  he  was 
more  anxious  and  doubtful  than  he  had  ever  been. 
He  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  requested  that  after 
we  took  our  places  the  audience  should  preserve  ab- 
solute silence,  and  refrain  from  even  the  slightest 
movement  until  the  feat  was  over.  The  merest  trifle 
might  distract  the  attention  of  the  performers  and 
render  their  eyes  and  hold  unsteady,  he  said.  He 
left  the  stage,  and  the  music  began. 

I  went  round  to  take  my  place  in  the  gallery. 
George  had  not  yet  left  his  room.  As  I  passed  I 
tapped  at  the  door  and  called,  "  Good  luck,  old  fel- 
low !" 

"That's  certain  now,  Zack,"  he  answered,  with  a 
joyous  laugh.  He  was  so  exultant,  you  see,  that 
Susy  had  come. 

But  the  shadow  of  death  seemed  to  have  crept 
over  me.  When  I  took  my  stand  in  the  lofty  gal- 
lery, and  looked  down  at  the  brilliant  lights  and  the 
great  mass  of  people,  who  followed  my  every  mo- 
tion as  one  man,  and  the  two  glittering,  half-naked 
girls  swinging  in  the  distance,  and  heard  the 
music  rolling  up  thunders  of  sound,  it  was  all  ghast- 
ly and  horrible  to  me,  sir.  Some  men  have  such 
presentiments,  they  say :  I  never  had  before  or 
since.  South  remained  on  the  stage  perfectly  mo- 
tionless, in  order,  I  think,  to  maintain  his  control 
over  the  audience. 

The  trumpets  sounded  a  call,  and  in  the  middle 
*>f  a  burst  of  triumphant  music  George  came  on  the 


138  BALACCHI  BROTHERS. 

stage.  There  was  a  deafening  outbreak  of  applause, 
and  then  a  dead  silence,  but  I  think  every  man  and 
woman  felt  a  thrill  of  admiration  of  the  noble  figure. 
Poor  George !  the  new,  tight-fitting  dress  of  purple 
velvet  that  he  had  bought  for  this  night  set  off  his 
white  skin,  and  his  fine  head  was  bare,  with  p" 
covering  but  the  short  curls  that  Susy  liked. 

It  was  for  Susy !  He  gave  one  quick  glance  up 
at  her,  and  a  bright,  boyish  smile,  as  if  telling  her 
.lot  to  be  afraid,  which  all  the  audience  understood, 
and  answered  by  an  involuntary,  long-drawn  breath. 
I  looked  at  Susy.  The  girl's  colorless  face  was 
turned  to  George,  and  her  hands  were  clasped  as 
though  she  saw  him  already  dead  before  her  ;  but 
she  could  be  trusted,  I  saw.  She  would  utter  no 
sound.  I  had  only  time  to  glance  at  her,  and  then 
turned  to  my  work.  George  and  I  dared  not  take 
our  eyes  from  each  other. 

There  was  a  single  bugle  note,  and  then  George 
swung  himself  up  to  the  trapeze.  The  silence  was 
like  death  as  he  steadied  himself  and  slowly  turned 
so  as  to  front  me.  As  he  turned  he  faced  the  stage- 
box  for  the  first  time.  He  had  reached  the  level  of 
the  posture-girls,  who  fluttered  on  either  side,  and 
stood  on  the  swaying  rod  poised  on  one  foot,  his 
arms  folded,  when  in  the  breathless  stillness  there 
came  a  sudden  cry  and  the  words,  "Oh,  Charley! 
Charley !' ' 

Even  at  the  distance  where  I  stood  I  saw  George 
start  and  a  shiver  pass  over  his  body.  He  looked 
wildly  about  him. 


B A  LAC  CHI  BROTHERS.  139 

"  To  me  !  to  me !"   I  shouted. 

He  fixed  his  eye  on  mine  and  steadied  himself- 
There  was  a  terrible  silent  excitement  in  the  people, 
in  the  very  air. 

There  was  the  mistake.  We  should  have  stopped 
then,  shaken  as  he  was,  but  South,  bewildered  and 
terrified,  lost  control  of  himself :  he  gave  the  word. 

I  held  the  rope  loose — held  George  with  my  eyes 
—One! 

I  saw  his  lips  move  :  he  was  counting  with  me. 

Two  ! 

His  eye  wandered,  turned  to  the  stage-box. 

Three ! 

Like  a  flash,  I  saw  the  white  upturned  faces 
below  me,  the  posture-girls'  gestures  of  horror,  the 
dark  springing  figure  through  the  air,  that  wavered 
— and  fell  a  shapeless  mass  on  the  floor. 

There  was  a  moment  of  deathlike  silence,  and 
then  a  wild  outcry — women  fainting,  men  cursing 
and  crying  out  in  that  senseless,  helpless  way  they 
have  when  there  is  sudden  danger.  By  the  time  I 
had  reached  the  floor  they  had  straightened  out  his 
shattered  limbs,  and  two  or  three  doctors  were  fight- 
ing their  way  through  the  great  crowd  that  was 
surging  about  him. 

Well,  sir,  at  that  minute  what  did  I  hear  but 
George's  voice  above  all  the  rest,  choked  and  hol- 
low as  it  was,  like  a  man  calling  out  of  the  grave : 
"  The  women  !  Good  God !  don't  you  see  the  wom- 
en ?"  he  gasped. 

Looking  up  then,  I  saw  those  miserable  Slingsbys 


140  BALACCHI  BROTHERS. 

hanging  on  to  the  trapeze  for  life.  What  with  the 
scare  and  shock,  they'd  lost  what  little  sense  they 
had,  and  there  they  hung  helpless  as  limp  rags  high 
over  our  heads. 

"  Damn  the  Slingsbys !"  said  I.  God  forgive  me ! 
But  I  saw  this  battered  wreck  at  my  feet  that  had 
been  George.  Nobody  seemed  to  have  any  mind 
left.  Even  South  stared  stupidly  up  at  them  and 
then  back  at  George.  The  doctors  were  making 
ready  to  lift  him,  and  half  of  the  crowd  were  gaping 
in  horror,  and  the  rest  yelling  for  ladders  or  ropes, 
and  scrambling  over  each  other,  and  there  hung  the 
poor  flimsy  wretches,  their  eyes  starting  out  of  their 
heads  from  horror,  and  their  lean  fingers  loosing 
their  hold  every  minute.  But,  sir — I  couldn't  help 
it — I  turned  from  them  to  watch  George  as  the 
doctors  lifted  him. 

"It's  hardly  worth  while,"  whispered  one. 

But  they  raised  him  and,  sir — the  body  went  one 
way  and  the  legs  another. 

I  thought  he  was  dead.  I  couldn't  see  that  he 
breathed,  when  he  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  up  for 
the  Slingsbys.  "Put  me  down,"  he  said,  and  the 
doctors  obeyed  him.  There  was  that  in  his  voice 
that  they  had  to  obey  him,  though  it  wasn't  but  a 
whisper. 

"  Ladders  are  of  no  use,"  he  said.    "  Loper !" 

"  Yes,  George." 

"  You  can  swing  yourself  up.     Do  it." 

I  went.  I  remember  the  queer  stunned  feeling  1 
had  :  my  joints  moved  like  a  machine. 


BALACCHI  BROTHERS.  141 

When  I  had  reached  the  trapeze,  he  said,  as  cool 
as  if  he  were  calling  the  figures  for  a  Virginia  reel, 
"  Support  them,  you — Loper.  Now,  lower  the 
trapeze,  men — carefully!" 

It  was  the  only  way  their  lives  could  be  saved, 
and  he  was  the  only  man  to  see  it.  He  watched  us 
until  the  girls  touched  the  floor  more  dead  than 
alive,  and  then  his  head  fell  back  and  the  life  seem- 
ed to  go  suddenly  out  of  him  like  the  flame  out  of 
a  candle,  leaving  only  the  dead  wick. 

As  they  were  carrying  him  out  I  noticed  for  the 
first  time  that  a  woman  was  holding  his  hand.  It 
was  that  frail  little  wisp  of  a  Susy,  that  used  to 
blush  and  tremble  if  you  spoke  to  her  suddenly, 
and  here  she  was  quite  quiet  and  steady  in  the  midst 
of  this  great  crowd. 

"His  sister,  I  suppose?"  one  of  the  doctors  said 
to  her. 

"  No,  sir.  If  he  lives  I  will  be  his  wife."  The 
old  gentleman  was  very  respectful  to  her  after  that, 
I  noticed. 

Now,  the  rest  of  my  story  is  very  muddled,  you'll 
say,  and  confused.  But  the  truth  is,  I  don't  under- 
stand it  myself.  I  ran  on  ahead  to  Mrs.  Peters' s  to 
prepare  his  bed  for  him,  but  they  did  not  bring 
him  to  Peters's.  After  I  waited  an  hour  or  two  I 
found  George  had  been  taken  to  the  principal  hotel 
in  the  place,  and  a  bedroom  and  every  comfort  that 
money  could  buy  were  there  for  him.  Susy  came 
home  sobbing  late  in  the  night,  but  she  told  me 
nothing,  except  that  those  who  had  a  right  to  have 


142  BALACCHI  BROTHERS. 

charge  of  him  had  taken  him.  I  found  afterward 
the  poor  girl  was  driven  from  the  door  of  his  room, 
where  she  was  waiting  like  a  faithful  dog.  I  went 
myself,  but  I  fared  no  better.  What  with  surgeons 
and  professional  nurses,  and  the  gentlemen  that 
crowded  about  with  their  solemn  looks  of  authority, 
I  dared  not  ask  to  see  him.  Yet  I  believe  still 
George  would  rather  have  had  old  Loper  by  him 
in  his  extremity  than  any  of  them.  Once,  when 
the  door  was  opened,  I  thought  I  saw  Mrs.  Lloyd 
stooping  over  the  bed  between  the  lace  curtains, 
and  just  then  her  husband  came  out  talking  to  one 
of  the  surgeons. 

He  said  :  "  It  is  certain  there  were  here  the  finest 
elements  of  manhood.  And  I  will  do  my  part  to 
rescue  him  from  the  abyss  into  which  he  has  fallen/' 

"  Will  you  tell  me  how  George  is,  sir  ?"  I  asked, 
pushing  up.  "  Balacchi  ?  My  partner  ?" 

Mr.  Lloyd  turned  away  directly,  but  the  surgeon 
told  me  civilly  enough  that  if  George's  life  could 
be  saved,  it  must  be  with  the  loss  of  one  or  perhaps 
both  of  his  legs. 

"  He'll  never  mount  a  trapeze  again,  then,"  I  said, 
and  I  suppose  I  groaned;  for  to  think  of  George 
helpless — 

"  God  forbid !"  cried  Mr.  Lloyd,  sharply.  "  Now 
look  here,  my  good  man  :  you  can  be  of  no  possi- 
ble use  to  Mr. — Balacchi  as  you  call  him.  He  is  in 
the  hands  of  his  own  people,  and  he  will  feel,  as 
they  do,  that  the  kindest  thing  you  can  do  is  to  let 
him  alone." 


BALACCHI  BROTHERS.  143 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done  after  that  but  to 
touch  my  hat  and  go  out,  but  as  I  went  I  heard  him 
talking  of  "  inexplicable  madness  and  years  of 
wasted  opportunities." 

Well,  sir,  I  never  went  again  :  the  words  hurt  like 
the  cut  of  a  whip,  though  'twan't  George  that  spoke 
them.  But  I  quit  business,  and  hung  around  the 
town  till  I  heard  he  was  going  to  live,  and  I  broke 
up  my  contract  with  South.  I  never  went  on  a 
trapeze  again.  I  felt  as  if  the  infernal  thing  was 
always  dripping  with  his  blood  after  that  day. 
Anyhow,  all  the  heart  went  out  of  the  business  for 
me  with  George.  So  I  came  back  here  and  settled 
down  to  the  milling,  and  by  degrees  I  learned  to 
think  of  George  as  a  rich  and  fortunate  man. 

I've  nearly  done  now — only  a  word  or  two  more. 
About  six  years  afterward  there  was  a  circus  came 
to  town,  and  I  took  the  wife  and  children  and  went. 
I  always  did  when  I  had  the  chance.  It  was  the 
old  Adam  in  me  yet,  likely. 

Well,  sir,  among  the  attractions  of  the  circus  was 
the  great  and  unrivalled  Hercules,  who  could  play 
with  cannon-balls  as  other  men  would  with  dice.  I 
don't  know  what  made  me  restless  and  excited 
when  I  read  about  this  man.  It  seemed  as  though 
the  old  spirit  was  coming  back  to  me  again.  I 
could  hardly  keep  still  when  the  time  drew  near  for 
him  to  appear.  I  don't  know  what  I  expected, 
but  when  he  came  out  from  behind  the  curtain  I 
shouted  out  like  a  madman,  "  Balacchi !  George.' 
George !' ' 


144  BALACCHI  BROTHERS. 

He  stopped  short,  looked  about,  and  catching 
sight  of  me  tossed  up  his  cap  with  his  old  boyish 
shout ;  then  he  remembered  himself  and  went  on 
with  his  performance. 

He  was  lame — yes,  in  one  leg.  The  other  was 
gone  altogether.  He  walked  on  crutches.  Wheth- 
er the  strength  had  gone  into  his  chest  and  arms,  I 
don't  know;  but  there  he  stood  tossing  about  the 
cannon-balls  as  I  might  marbles.  So  full  of  hearty 
good-humor  too,  joking  with  his  audience,  and  so 
delighted  when  they  gave  him  a  round  of  applause. 

After  the  performance  I  hurried  around  the  tent, 
and  you  may  be  sure  there  was  rejoicing  that  made 
the  manager  and  other  fellows  laugh. 

George  haled  me  off  with  him  down  the  street. 
He  cleared  the  ground  with  that  crutch  and  wood- 
en leg  like  a  steam-engine.  "  Come  !  come  along  !'* 
he  cried  ;  "  I've  something  to  show  you,  Loper." 

He  took  me  to  a  quiet  boarding-house,  and  there, 
in  a  cosey  room,  was  Susy  with  a  four-year-old  girl. 

"  We  were  married  as  soon  as  I  could  hobble 
about,"  he  said,  "  and  she  goes  with  me  and  makes 
a  home  wherever  I  am." 

Susy  nodded  and  blushed  and  laughed.  "Baby 
and  I,"  she  said.  "  Do  you  see  Baby  ?  She  has 
her  father's  eyes,  do  you  see  ?" 

"  She  is  her  mother,  Loper,"  said  George — "just 
as  innocent  and  pure  and  foolish — just  as  sure  of 
the  Father  in  heaven  taking  care  of  her.  They've 
made  a  different  man  of  me  in  some  ways — a  differ- 
ent man,"  bending  his  head  reverently. 


BALACCHI  BROTHERS.  145 

After  a  while  I  began,  "  You  did  not  stay  with — ?" 
But   Balacchi   frowned.    "  I   knew  where  /  be- 
longed," he  said. 

Well,  he's  young  yet.  He's  the  best  Hercules  in 
the  profession,  and  has  laid  up  a  snug  sum.  Why 
doesn't  he  invest  it  and  retire  ?  I  doubt  if  he'll  ever 
do  that,  sir.  He  may  do  it,  but  I  doubt  it.  He 
can't  change  his  blood,  and  there's  that  in  Balacchi 
that  makes  me  suspect  he  will  die  with  the  velvet 
and  gilt  on,  and  in  the  height  of  good-humor  and 
fun  with  his  audience. 


AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY. 

BY  ALBERT  WEBSTER. 


I. 

IN  an  elegant  and  lofty  bank-parlor  there  sat  in 
council,  on  an  autumn  morning,  fourteen  mill- 
ionaires. They  reposed  in  deep  arm-chairs,  and 
their  venerable  faces  were  filled  with  profound 
gravity.  Before  them,  upon  a  broad  mahogany 
table,  were  piles  of  books,  sheaves  of  paper  in  rub- 
ber bands,  bundles  of  quill  pens,  quires  of  waste 
paper  for  calculations,  and  a  number  of  huge  red- 
covered  folios,  containing  the  tell-tale  reports  of 
the  mercantile  agencies.  They  had  just  completed 
the  selections  from  the  list  of  applicants  for  dis- 
count, and  were  now  in  that  state  of  lethargy  that 
commonly  follows  a  great  and  important  act. 

The  president,  with  his  hands  pressed  together 
before  him,  was  looking  at  the  fresco  of  Commerce 
upon  the  ceiling  ;  his  ponderous  right-hand  neigh- 

«**  A /'pistons'  Journal,  September  27,  1873. 


AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY.  147 

bor  was  stumbling  feebly  over  an  addition  that  one 
of  the  bookkeepers  had  made  upon  one  of  the 
papers — he  hoped  to  find  it  wrong  ;  his  left-hand 
neighbor  was  doubling  his  under-lip  with  his  stout 
fingers  ;  an  octogenarian  beyond  had  buried  his 
chin  in  his  immense  neck,  and  was  going  to  sleep  ; 
another  was  stupidly  blinking  at  the  nearest  coal- 
fire  ;  two  more  were  exchanging  gasping  whispers  ; 
another  was  wiping  his  gold  spectacles  with  a 
white  handkerchief,  now  and  then  stopping  to  hold 
them  unsteadily  up  to  the  light  ;  and  another  was 
fingering  the  polished  lapel  of  his  old  black  coat, 
and  saying,  with  asthmatic  hoarseness  to  all  who 
would  look  at  him,  "  F-o-u-r-teen  years  !  f-o-u-r- 
teen  years  !" 

A  tall  regulator-clock,  with  its  mercury  pendu- 
lum, ticked  upon  the  wall  ;  the  noise  of  the  heavy 
rumbling  in  the  streets  was  softened  into  a  low 
monotone,  and  now  and  then  a  bit  of  coal  rattled 
upon  the  fender. 

The  oil-portraits  of  four  former  presidents  looked 
thoughtfully  down  on  the  scene  of  their  former 
labors  ;  the  polished  wainscots  reflected  ragged 
pictures  of  the  silent  fourteen,  and  all  was  perfectly 
in  order  and  perfectly  secure. 

Presently,  however,  there  was  an  end  to  the 
stagnation  ;  the  white  heads  began  to  move  and  to 
look  around. 

The  president's  eyes  came  gradually  down  from 
the  Commerce,  and,  after  travelling  over  the 
countenances  of  his  stirring  confreres,  they  settled 


148  AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY. 

by  accident  upon  the  table  before  him.  There 
they  encountered  a  white  envelope,  inscribed  "  To 
the  President  and  Honorable  Board  of  Directors 
— Present." 

"  Oh  gentlemen  !  gentlemen  !"  cried  the  presi- 
dent, seizing  the  letter,  "  one  moment  more,  I  beg 
of  you.  Here's  a — a — note — a  communication — a 
— I  don't  know  what  it  is  myself,  I'm  sure,  but" — 
the  thirteen  sank  back  again,  feeling  somewhat 
touched  that  they  should  be  so  restrained.  The 
president  ran  his  eye  over  the  missive.  He  smiled 
as  one  does  sometimes  at  the  precocity  of  an  in- 
fant. "  The  letter,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  slipping 
the  paper  through  his  fingers,  "  is  from  the  paying 
teller.  It  is  a  request  for" — here  the  president 
delayed  as  if  about  making  a  humorous  point — 
"  for  a  larger  salary."  Then  he  dropped  his  eyes 
and  lowered  his  head,  as  he  might  have  done  had 
he  confessed  that  somebody  had  kissed  him.  He 
seemed  to  be  the  innocent  mouthpiece  of  a  piece 
of  flagrant  nonsense. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Then  a  heavy- 
voiced  gentleman  took  up  a  pen  and  said  : 

"  Is  this  man's  name  Dreyfus — or — or  what  is 
it?" 

"  Let  me  think,"  returned  the  president,  return- 
ing once  more  to  the  Commerce  ;  "  Dreyfus  ? — no 
— not  Dreyfus — yes — no.  Paying  teller — hum — 
it's  curious  I  can't  recall — it  commences  with  an 
F— FIELDS — yes,  Fields  !  that's  his  name — Fields, 
to  be  sure  !" 


AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY.  149 

The  questioner  at  once  wrote  down  the  word  on 
the  paper. 

"  This  is  the  second  time  that  he  has  applied  for 
this  favor,  is  it  not  ?"  formally  inquired  another 
of  the  thirteen,  in  the  tone  that  a  judge  uses  when 
he  asks  the  clerk,  "  Has  he  not  been  before  me  on 
a  former  occasion  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  president,  "  this  is  a  renewal 
of  an  effort  made  six  months  ago." 

There  was  a  general  movement.  Several  chairs 
rolled  back,  and  their  occupants  exchanged  queru- 
lous glances. 

"  Suppose  we  hear  the  letter  read,"  suggested  a 
fair  soul.  "  Perhaps"  —  a  septuagenarian,  with 
snowy  hair  and  a  thin  body,  clad  in  the  clerical 
guise  of  the  old  school,  and  who  had  made  a  fort- 
une by  inventing  a  hat-block,  arose  hastily  to  his 
feet,  and  said  : 

"  I  cannot  stay  to  listen  to  a  dun  !" 

A  chorus  from  the  majority  echoed  the  exclama- 
tion. All  but  four  staggered  to  their  feet,  and 
tottered  off  in  various  directions  ;  some  to  pre- 
tend to  look  out  at  the  window,  and  some  to  the 
wardrobes,  where  was  deposited  their  outer  cloth- 
ing. 

"  Clarks,"  stammered  the  feeble  hatter,  feeling 
vainly  for  the  arm-holes  in  his  great-coat — "  clarks 
presume  on  their  value.  Turn  'em  out,  say  I. 
Give  'em  a  chance  to  rotate.  You've  got  my 
opinion,  Mr.  President.  Refuse  what's-his-name, 
Fields.  Tell  him  he's  happy  and  well  off  now, 


150  AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY. 

without  knowing  it.  Where  can  be  the  sleeves  to 
— to  this" — his  voice  expired  in  his  perplexity. 

Fields's  cause  looked  blue.  One  director  after 
another  groped  to  the  door,  saying,  as  he  went,  "  I 
can't  encourage  it,  Mr.  President — tell  him  '  No/ 
Mr.  President — it  would  only  make  the  rest  uneasy 
if  we  allowed  it — plenty  more  to  fill  his  place." 

The  hatter's  voice  stopped  further  mention  of 
the  subject.  He  stood  at  one  end  of  the  apart- 
ment in  a  paroxysm  of  laughter.  Tears  filled  his 
eyes.  He  pointed  to  another  director,  who,  at  the 
other  extremity  of  the  room,  was  also  puzzling 
over  a  coat.  "  There's  Stuart  with  my  mackin- 
tosh !  He's  trying  \oputilon! — and  here  am  I 
with  his  coat  trying  to  put  that  on.  I — I  said  to 
myself,  '  This  is  pretty  large  for  a  slim  man  like 
you.' — Great  God,  Stuart,  if  I  hadn't  been  quick- 
sighted  we  might  have  stayed  here  all  night !" 
He  immediately  fell  into  another  fit  of  laughter, 
and  so  did  his  friend.  They  exchanged  coats  with 
great  hilarity,  and  those  who  had  gone  out  of  the 
door  lumbered  back  to  learn  the  cause  of  it.  The 
story  went  round  from  one  to  the  other,  "  Why, 
Stuart  had  Jacobs's  coat,  and  Jacobs  had  Stuart's 
coat  !"  Everybody  went  into  convulsions,  and  the 
president  drew  out  his  pocket-handkerchief  and 
shrieked  into  it. 

The  board  broke  up  with  great  good  feeling,  and 
Jacobs  went  away  very  weak,  saying  that  he  was 
going  to  tell  the  joke  against  Stuart  on  the  street 
—if  he  lived  to  get  there. 


AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY.  151 

Three  gentlemen  remained,  professedly  to  hear 
Fields's  letter  read.  Two  staid  because  the  room 
was  comfortable,  and  the  other  because  he  wanted 
to  have  a  little  private  conversation  with  the  presi- 
dent afterward. 

Therefore  the  president  wiped  away  the  tears 
that  Stuart's  humor  had  forced  from  his  eyes,  and 
opened  the  crumpled  letter,  and,  turning  his  back 
to  the  light,  read  it  aloud,  while  the  rest  listened 
with  looks  of  great  amusement  in  their  wrinkled 
faces. 

1 '  To  the  President  and  Directors  of  the National 

Bank. 

"  GENTLEMEN  :  I  most  respectfully  renew  my 
application  for  an  increase  of  my  salary  to  five 
thousand  dollars  per  annum,  it  now  being  four 
thousand.  I  am  impelled  to  do  this  because  I  am 
convinced  that  I  am  not  sufficiently  recompensed 
for  the  labor  I  perform  ;  and  because  other  tellers, 
having  the  same  responsibilities,  receive  the  larger 
sum  per  annum  ;  and,  lastly,  because  I  am  about 
to  be  married. 

"  I  remember  that  your  answer  to  my  first  appli- 
cation was  a  definite  refusal,  and  I  blamed  myself 
for  not  having  presented  the  case  more  clearly  to 
your  distinguished  notice.  Will  you  permit  me  to 
rectify  that  fault  now,  and  to  state  briefly  why  I 
feel  assured  that  my  present  claim  is  not  an  un- 
reasonable one  ? 

"  i.  While  ten  years  ago  we  agreed  that  three 


152  AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY. 

thousand  dollars  was  a  fair  compensation  for  the 
work  I  was  then  called  upon  to  perform,  and  four 
years  later  agreed  that  four  thousand  dollars  was 
then  fair  pay  for  my  increased  tasks,  caused  by  the 
increase  of  your  business,  is  it  not  just  that  I 
should  now  ask  for  a  still  further  advance  in  view 
of  the  fact  that  your  business  has  doubled  since 
the  date  of  our  last  contract  ? 

"  It  has  been  necessary  for  me  to  acquaint  my- 
self with  the  signatures  and  business  customs  and 
qualifications  of  twice  the  former  number  of  your 
customers,  and  my  liability  to  error  has  also  be- 
come greater  in  like  ratio.  But  I  have  committed 
no  errors,  which  argues  that  I  have  kept  up  an 
equal  strain  of  care.  This  has  made  demands  upon 
my  brain  and  my  bodily  strength,  which  I  think 
should  be  requited  for. 

"2.  I,  like  each  of  you,  will  one  day  reach  an 
age  when  the  body  and  mind  will  no  longer  be 
able  to  provide  for  themselves.  But  between  us, 
should  we  continue  our  present  relations,  there 
would  be  this  vital  difference  :  You  would  have 
made  an  accumulation  of  wealth  that  would  be 
sufficient  for  your  wants,  while  I  would  be  poor  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  I  labored  with  you,  and  next 
to  yourselves  did  the  most  to  protect  your  in- 
terests. In  view  of  my  approaching  incompetence 
(no  matter  how  far  off  it  is),  I  am  working  at  a 
disadvantage.  Would  it  not  be  right  to  enable  me 
to  protect  myself  from  this  disadvantage  ? 

"3.   While  you  pay  me  a  price  for  my  labor  and 


AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY.  153 

for  my  skill  as  an  expert,  do  .you  compensate  me 
for  the  trials  you  put  upon  my  probity  ?  You  pay 
me  for  what  I  do,  but  do  you  reward  me  for  what 
I  might,  but  do  not  do  ?  Is  what  I  do  not  do  a  mar- 
ketable quantity  ?  I  think  that  it  is.  To  prove  it, 
inquire  of  those  whose  servants  have  behaved  ill, 
whether  they  would  not  have  paid  something  to 
have  forestalled  their  dishonesty. 

"  There  is  a  bad  strain  to  this  paragraph,  and  I 
will  not  dwell  upon  it.  I  only  ask  you  to  remember 
that  enormous  sums  of  money  pass  through  my 
hands  every  day,  and  that  the  smallest  slip  of  my 
memory,  or  of  my  care,  or  of  my  fidelity,  might 
cause  you  irreparable  loss.  Familiarity  with 
money  and  operations  in  money  always  tend  to 
lessen  the  respect  for  the  regard  that  others  hold 
it  in.  To  resist  the  subtle  influences  of  this 
familiarity  involves  a  certain  wear  and  tear  of 
those  principles  which  must  be  kept  intact  for  your 
sake. 

"  I  beg  you  to  accept  what  is  my  evident  mean- 
ing, even  if  my  method  of  setting  it  forth  has  not 
been  particularly  happy.  I  have  assured  myself 
that  my  claim  is  a  valid  one,  and  I  await  your 
obliging  reply  with  anxiety. 

"  I  remain,  very  respectfully, 

"  Your  obedient  servant, 

" FIELDS,  Paying  Teller." 

At  the  end  the  president  suddenly  lowered  his 
head  with  a  smile,  and  looked  over  the  top  of  his 


154  AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY. 

glasses  at  his  audience,  clearly  meaning,  "  There's 
a  letter  for  you  !" 

But  two  of  the  gentlemen  were  fast  asleep,  nod- 
ding gently  at  one  another  across  the  table,  while 
their  hands  clasped  the  arms  of  their  chairs.  The 
other  one  was  looking  up  toward  the  roofs  of  the 
buildings  opposite,  absorbed  in  speculation. 

The  president  said,  aloud  : 

"  I  think,  as  long  as  Fields  has  made  such  a 
touse  about  it,  that  I'd  better  draft  a  reply,  and 
not  give  him  a  verbal  an — " 

"  Draft  !"  said  the  speculator,  brought  to  life  by 
the  word.  "  Draft  did  you  say,  sir  ?  What  ? — On 
whom  ? — " 

"  I  said  '  draft  a  reply'  to — to  this,"  returned 
the  other,  waving  the  letter. 

"  Oh,  a  reply  !  Draft  one.  Draft  a  reply — a 
reply  to  the  letter  about  the  salary.  Oh,  cer- 
tainly, by  all  means." 

"  And  read  it  to  the  directors  at  the  meeting 
next  Friday,"  suggested  the  president. 

The  speculator's  eyes  turned  vacantly  upon  him, 
and  it  was  full  half  a  minute  before  he  compre- 
hended. "  Yes,  yes,  of  course,  read  it  to  the 
directors  next  Friday.  They'll  approve  it,  you 
know.  That  will  be  regular,  and  according  to  rule. 
But  about  Steinmeyer,  you  know.  When  a  man 
like  Steinmeyer  does  such  a  thing  as — but  just 
come  to  the  window  a  minute." 

He  led  the  president  off  by  the  arm,  and  that 
was  the  last  of  Fields' s  letter  for  that  day. 


AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY.  155 


II. 

FIELDS  was  truly  on  the  anxious-seat. 

As  he  had  said  in  his  letter,  he  was  engaged  to 
be  married,  and  he  wanted  to  be  about  the  con- 
summation of  the  contract,  for  he  had  already 
delayed  too  long.  His  affiancee  was  a  sweet  girl 
who  lived  with  her  widowed  mother  in  the  country, 
where  they  had  a  fine  house,  and  a  fine  demesne 
attached  to  it.  When  the  time  for  the  marriage 
was  finally  settled  upon,  the  lady  instantly  set 
about  remodelling  her  domicile  and  its  surround- 
ings, and  making  it  fit  for  the  new  spirits  that 
were  soon  to  inhabit  it.  She  drew  upon  her  accu- 
mulation of  money  that  had  thriven  long  in  a 
private  bank,  and  expended  it  in  laying  out  new 
lawns,  planting  new  trees,  building  new  stables, 
erecting  tasteful  graperies  and  kiosks.  This  sum 
was  not  very  large,  and  it  included  not  only  what 
had  been  saved  out  of  the  earnings  of  the  farm, 
but  also  what  had  been  saved  out  of  the  income 
from  the  widow's  property,  which  consisted  of 
twelve  thousand  dollars  in  insurance  stock. 

Fields  had  thus  far  expended  nearly  all  of  his 
salary  of  four  thousand  dollars.  He  was  accus- 
tomed to  use  a  quarter  of  it  for  his  own  purposes, 
and  the  rest  he  applied  to  the  comfort  of  his  aged 
parents,  whom  he  maintained.  Thus  it  will  be 
seen  that  Fields's  desire  to  add  to  his  own  wealth 
had  reason  to  be. 


156  AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY. 

Just  at  this  time  there  stepped  in  the  Chicago 
fire.  On  the  second  day  Fields  began  to  be  fright- 
ened about  the  twelve  thousand  dollars  in  insurance 
stock.  Telegrams  poured  into  the  city  by  hundreds, 
and  the  tale  grew  more  dismal  with  each  hour. 

His  fears  were  realized.  The  widow's  money 
was  swept  away,  and  a  sort  of  paralysis  fell  upon 
the  country-house  and  all  its  surroundings.  The 
carpenters  went  away  from  the  kiosks,  the  masons 
from  the  face-walls,  the  smiths  from  the  graperies, 
the  gardeners  from  the  lawns,  and  everything 
came  to  a  stand-still.  The  extra  farm-hands  were 
discharged,  and  much  of  the  work  was  left  un- 
finished. 

What  was  to  be  done  ? 

The  mother  and  daughter  wept  in  secret.  Their 
careers  had  been  interrupted.  Desolation  was 
out-of-doors,  and  desolation  was  in  their  hearts. 
The  earth  lay  in  ragged  heaps  ;  beams  and  timbers 
leaned  half  erect  ;  barns  were  party-colored  with 
the  old  paint  and  the  new,  and  the  shrubbery  was 
bare  to  the  frosts.  Joys  which  had  smiled  had  fled 
into  the  far  distance,  and  now  looked  surly  enough  ; 
all  pleasures  were  unhorsed,  and  hope  was  down. 

It  was  under  these  circumstances  that  Fields 
wrote  a  second  time  to  the  honorable  board  of 
directors  to  ask  them  to  pay  him  better  wages. 

Friday  came.  There  was  a  meeting,  and  Fields 
knew  that  his  case  must  now  be  receiving  consider- 
ation. 

At  eleven  o'clock  the  directors  emerged  from 


AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY.  157 

their  parlor,  and  passed  by  his  desk  in  twos  and 
threes,  chatting  and  telling  watery  jokes,  as  most 
great  men  do. 

"  They  look  as  if  they  had  entirely  forgotten 
me,"  said  Fields  to  himself. 

Pretty  soon  the  cashier  came  and  placed  a  letter 
upon  his  counter. 

"  Ah  !"  thought  the  teller,  "  I  was  mistaken.  I 
wonder  if  I  can  read  it  here  without  changing 
countenance  ?" 

He  could  but  try  it.  He  tore  off  the  envelope. 
It  went  thus  : 

"  Mr.  Fields,  Paying  Teller. 

"  DEAR  SIR  :  The  president  and  directors,  to 
whom  you  addressed  a  request  for  an  increase  of 
salary,  must  beg  to  criticise  the  arguments  ad- 
vanced in  your  polite  note. 

"  They  do  not  understand  why  you  should  place 
a  new  value  upon  your  honesty  because  in  other 
people  there  happens  to  be  sometimes  such  a  thing 
as  dishonesty.  It  is  a  popular  notion  that  honesty 
among  men  is  rare,  but  the  idea  is  a  mistaken  one. 
Honesty  of  the  purest  kind,  as  honesty  is  usually 
understood,  is  very  common.  They  cannot  help 
feeling,  also,  that  you  somewhat  overestimate  the 
value  of  your  work,  which  to  them  seems  to  be 
only  a  higher  sort  of  routine,  calling  for  no  intel- 
lectual endeavor,  and  requiring  but  little  more 
than  an  ordinary  bookkeeper's  care  for  its  perfect 
performance.  But  for  the  differences  that  do  exist 


158  AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY. 

between  your  tasks  and  those  of  the  bookkeeper 
you  will  remember  you  are  already  compensated 
by  a  salary  a  fourth  larger. 

"  Briefly,  they  consider  their  bank  a  piece  of 
money-making  mechanism,  of  which  you  are  an 
able  and  respected  part  ;  but  they  cannot  under- 
stand how  you  could  hope  to  raise  their  fear  of 
peculations  and  villainies  when  their  system  of 
checks  and  counter-checks  is  so  perfect.  They 
have  never  lost  a  dollar  by  the  immorality  of  any 
of  their  employes,  and  they  are  sure  that  matters 
are  so  arranged  that  any  such  immorality,  even  of 
the  rankest  kind,  could  occasion  them  no  incon- 
venience. 

"  Nor  do  they  comprehend  why  your  idea  that 
increase  of  business  justifies  a  request  for  an  in- 
crease of  salary  may  not  be  met  with  the  sugges- 
tion that  your  hours  of  labor  are  the  same  as  your 
former  hours,  and  that  all  you  were  able  to  per- 
form in  those  hours,  to  the  best  of  your  capacity, 
was  purchased  at  the  beginning  of  your  connection 
with  them. 

"  In  regard  to  the  pure  question  of  the  sufficiency 
of  your  salary,  they  hint  in  the  kindest  manner 
that  all  expenditures  are  contractible  as  well  as  ex- 
tensible. 

"  They  hasten  to  take  this  opportunity  to  ex- 
press to  you  their  appreciation  of  your  perfect  ex- 
hibits ;  and,  complimenting  you  upon  the  care 
with  which  you  have  fulfilled  the  duties  of  your 
post,  they  remain  your  obedient  servants  " 


AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY.  159 

The  teller  felt  that  a  more  maddening  letter 
could  not  have  been  written.  Its  civility  seemed 
to  him  to  be  disagreeable  suavity  ;  its  failure  to 
particularize  the  points  he  made  to  be  a  disgrace- 
ful evasion  ;  and  the  liberty  it  took  in  generalizing 
his  case  to  be  an  enormous  insult. 

The  very  first  sentence  on  honesty  put  him  in 
the  light  of  a  blackmailer — -one  that  threatened 
mischief  if  his  demands  were  not  complied  with. 
The  next  sentence  went  to  show  that  he  was  an 
egotist,  because  he  thought  his  labors  required 
wear  and  tear  of  brain.  The  third  called  him  a 
sound  cog-wheel.  The  latter  part  of  the  same  said 
that  a  villain  could  do  no  evil  if  he  wished  to, 
for  they  (the  directors)  had  protected  themselves 
against  villains.  Then  it  went  on  to  say  that  the 
writers  did  not  understand  how  anxiety  and  cau- 
tion could  be  involved  in  the  pursuit  of  his  duties  ; 
and  then  it  was  thrown  out  that  his  marriage  was 
his  seeking — not  theirs.  Finally,  they  patted  him 
on  the  head. 
The  devil  ! 

Fields  passed  a  sleepless  night.  He  felt  that  he 
had  been  belittled  to  the  extremest  point,  and  that 
there  was  not  a  foothold  left  for  his  dignity.  His 
soul  was  incised  and  chafed,  and  he  lay  awake 
thinking  that  degradation  of  himself  and  his  office 
could  have  proceeded  no  further. 

Toward  morning  he  hit  upon  a  plan  to  establish 
himself  in  what  he  believed  to  be  the  proper  light. 
"  It  will  require  nerve,"  reflected  he,  doubtingly, 


160  AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY. 

"  and  not  only  nerve  in  itself,  but  a  certain  exact 
quantity  of  it.  Too  much  nerve  would  destroy 
me,  and  too  little  nerve  would  do  the  same  thing. 
I  think,  however,  that  I  can  manage  it.  I  feel 
able  to  do  anything.  Even  a  paying  teller  will 
turn  if — "  etc.,  etc. 


III. 

ON  the  following  Monday  there  was  a  special 
meeting  of  the  directors  for  the  purpose  of  examin- 
ing the  books  and  accounts  of  the  bank.  The 
bank-controller  was  expected  to  call  for  an  exhibit 
within  the  coming  week,  and  it  was  desirable  that 
the  directors  should  feel  assured  that  their  institu- 
tion was  in  the  proper  order.  The  call  of  the  con- 
troller was  always  impending.  It  might  come  any 
day,  and  it  would  require  an  exhibit  of  the  condi- 
tion of  the  bank  on  any  previous  day.  He  was 
permitted  to  make  five  of  these  calls  during  the 
year,  and,  inasmuch  as  he  was  at  liberty  to  choose 
his  own  days,  his  check  upon  the  banks  was  com- 
plete. If  he  found  a  bank  that  had  not  fulfilled 
the  requirements  of  law,  he  was  obliged  to  take 
away  its  charter,  and  to  close  it  :  hence  the  ex- 
amination-meeting in  the  present  case.  The  ac- 
counts of  the  tellers  were  passed  upon,  the  cashier's 
books  were  looked  over,  as  were  also  those  of  the 
regular  bookkeepers.  There  seemed  to  be  no 
errors,  and  the  contents  of  the  safes  were  proved. 


AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY.  161 

There  was  perfect  order  in  all  the  departments. 
The  clerks  were  complimented.  "  Now,"  said 
Fields  to  himself,  "  is  my  opportunity." 

On  the  next  day  at  ten  o'clock  the  directors 
again  assembled — this  time  for  their  regular  labors 
— to  examine  the  proposals  for  discount. 

The  day  happened  to  be  cold  and  stormy.  The 
twenty  clerks  were  busily  and  silently  at  work 
behind  their  counters  and  gratings,  and  the  four- 
teen directors  were  shut  tight  in  their  mahogany 
room.  There  was  but  little  passing  to  and  fro 
from  the  street,  though  now  and  then  a  half-frozen 
messenger  came  stamping  in,  and  did  his  errand, 
with  benumbed  fingers,  through  the  little  win- 
dows. The  tempest  made  business  light. 

At  eleven  o'clock  Fields  wrote  a  note  and  sent  it 
to  the  directors'  room.  The  boy  who  carried  it 
knocked  softly,  and  the  president  appeared,  took 
the  letter,  and  then  closed  the  door  again. 

Then  there  was  a  moment  of  almost  total 
silence  ;  the  clerks  wrote,  the  leaves  rattled,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  it  were  an  instant  before  an  expected 
explosion. 

Presently  an  explosion  came.  The  clerks  heard 
with  astonishment  a  tumult  in  the  directors'  room 
— exclamations,  hurried  questions,  the  hasty  roll- 
ing of  chairs  on  their  casters,  and  then  the  sound 
of  feet. 

The  door  was  hastily  drawn  open,  and  those  who 
were  near  could  see  that  nearly  all  the  directors 
were  clustered  around  it,  straining  their  eyes  to 


1 62  AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY. 

look  at  the  paying  teller.  Most  of  them  were  pa\e, 
and  they  called,  in  one  voice,  "  Come  here  !" 
"Come  in  here  at  once!"  "Fields!"  "Mr. 
Fields  !"  "  Sir,  you  are  wanted  !"  "  Step  this  way 
instantly  !"  Fields  put  down  his  pen,  opened  the 
tall  iron  gate  which  separated  him  from  the  coun- 
ters, and  walked  rather  quickly  toward  the  den  of 
lions.  An  opening  was  made  for  him  in  the 
group,  and  he  passed  through  the  door,  and  it  was 
shut  once  more. 

He  walked  across  the  room  to  the  fireplace.  He 
took  out  his  handkerchief,  and,  seizing  a  corner 
between  a  thumb  and  forefinger,  slowly  shook  it 
open,  and  then  turned  around. 

"  This  note,  sir  !  What  does  it  mean  ?"  cried 
the  president,  advancing  upon  him,  waving  the 
paper  in  his  trembling  hand. 

"Have  you  read  it?"  demanded  Fields,  in  a 
loud  voice. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  president.  He  was  astonished 
at  Fields's  manner.  He  cast  a  glance  upon  his 
fellow-directors. 

"  Then  what  is  the  use  of  asking  me  what  I 
mean  ?  It  is  as  plain  as  I  can  make  it." 

"But  it  says — but  it  says,"  faltered  the  vener- 
able gentleman,  turning  the  paper  to  the  light, 
"  that  you  have  only  money  enough  to  last  until 
twelve  o'clock.  Your  statement  yesterday  showed 
a  balance  to  your  credit  of  three  hundred  and  fifty- 
two  thousand  dollars.  That  will  last  at  least— 

"  But  I  have  not  got  three  hundred  and  seventy- 


AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY  16, 

deven  thousand  dollars.     I  have  only  got  twenty 
seven  thousand  dollars  !" 

"  But  we  counted  three  hundred  and  seventy- 
seven  thousand  dollars." 

"  When  ?" 

"  Yesterday." 

"  Yesterday — yes.     But  not  this  morning." 

"  Great  God  !"  cried  Stuart,  thrusting  himself 
forward,  "  what  ! — "  He  fixed  his  feeble  eyes 
upon  Fields,  but  could  speak  no  further.  His 
arms  fell  down  by  his  sides,  and  he  began  to 
tremble.  He  did  not  have  sufficient  courage  to 
ask  the  question.  Somebody  else  did. 

"  What  has  become  of  it  ?" 

"  That  I  shall  not  tell  you  !"  returned  Fields, 
looking  defiantly  at  one  director  after  another. 

"  But  is  it  gone?"  cried  the  chorus.  Many  of 
the  faces  that  confronted  Fields  had  become 
waxen.  The  little  group  was  permeated  with  a 
tremor. 

"  Yes,  it  is  gone  ;  I  have  taken  it." 

"  You  have  taken  it  !"  "  You  have  taken  it !" 
"  You  have  taken  it!" 

The  directors,  overwhelmed  and  confounded, 
retreated  from  Fields  as  if  they  were  in  personal 
danger  from  him. 

"  In  Heaven's  name,  Fields  !"  exclaimed  the 
president,  "  speak  out  !  Tell  us  !  What  ! — where  ! 
— the  money  !  Come,  man  !" 

"  You  had  better  lock  the  door,"  said  the  teller; 
"  some  one  will  be  coming  in." 


1 64  AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY. 

One  of  the  most  feeble  and  aged  of  the  board 
turned  around  and  hastened,  as  fast  as  his  infirm 
limbs  would  permit  him,  and  threw  the  bolt  with 
feverish  haste,  and  then  ran  back  again  to  hear. 

"Yes,"  said  Fields,  with  deliberation,  "  I  have 
taken  the  money.  I  have  carried  it  away  and  hid- 
den it  where  no  one  can  lay  hands  upon  it  but 
myself." 

"  Then — then,  sir,  you  have  stolen  it !" 

Fields  bowed.     "  I  have  stolen  it." 

"  But  you  have  ruined  us  !" 

"  Possibly." 

"  And  you  have  ruined  yourself  !" 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that." 

"  Stop  this  useless  talk  !"  cried  a  gentleman, 
who  had  heretofore  been  silent.  He  bent  upon 
Fields  a  look  of  great  dignity.  "  Make  it  clear, 
sir,  what  you  have  done." 

"  Certainly.  When  I  left  the  bank  last  night  I 
put  into  my  pockets  one  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand dollars  in  greenbacks  of  the  one-thousand- 
dollar  denomination,  one  hundred  thousand  dol- 
lars in  national-currency  notes  of  the  one-hundred- 
dollar  denomination,  and  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars  in  gold  certificates.  I  left  to  the  credit  of 
my  account  twenty-seven  thousand  eight  hundred 
and  sixty-two  dollars  and  some  odd  cents.  Eight 
thousand  of  these  have  been  already  drawn  this 
morning.  It  is  not  unlikely  that  the  whole  of 
what  is  left  may  be  drawn  within  the  next  five 
minutes,  and  the  next  draft  upon  you  will  find  you 


AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY.  165 

insolvent.  If  the  balance  is  against  you  at  the 
clearing-house,  you  will  undoubtedly  be  obliged 
to  stop  payment  before  one  o'clock." 

Fields's  interlocutor  turned  sharply  around  and 
sank  into  his  seat.  At  this  three  of  the  young 
members  of  the  board— Slavin,  a  wool-dealer, 
Debritt,  a  silk  importer,  and  Saville,  an  insurance 
actuary — made  a  violent  onslaught  upon  the  teller, 
but  others  interposed. 

What  was  to  be  said  ?  What  was  to  be  done  ? 
Somebody  cried  for  a  policeman,  and  would  have 
thrown  up  a  window  and  called  into  the  street. 
But  the  act  was  prevented.  It  was  denounced  as 
childish.  After  a  moment,  everybody  but  Fields 
had  seated  himself  in  his  accustomed  place,  over- 
come with  agitation.  Those  who  could  see  de- 
voured the  teller  with  their  eyes.  Two  others 
wept  with  puerile  fear  and  anger.  They  began  to 
realize  the  plight  they  were  in.  It  began  to  dawn 
upon  them  that  an  immense  disaster  was  hanging 
over  their  heads.  How  were  they  to  escape  from 
it  ?  Which  way  were  they  to  turn  to  find  relief  ? 
It  was  no  time  for  brawling  and  denunciation  ; 
they  were  in  the  hands  of  an  unscrupulous  man, 
who,  at  this  crucial  moment,  was  as  cool  and  im- 
placable as  an  iceberg.  They  watched  him  care- 
lessly draw  and  redraw  his  handkerchief  through 
his  fingers  ;  he  was  unmoved,  and  entirely  at  ease. 

"Can  it  be  possible!"  said  a  tall  and  aged 
director,  rising  from  his  chair  and  bending  upon 
the  culprit  a  look  of  great  impressiveness — "can 


1 65  AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY. 

it  be  possible  that  it  is  our  upright  and  stainless 
clerk  who  confesses  to  such  a  stupendous  villainy 
as  this  ?  Can  it  be  that  one  who  has  earned  so 
much  true  esteem  from  his  fellow-men  thus  turns 
upon  them  and — " 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes  !"  replied  Fields,  impatiently, 
"  that  is  all  true  ;  but  it  is  all  sentiment.  Let  us 
descend  to  business.  I  know  the  extent  of  my 
wickedness  better  than  you  do.  I  have  taken  for 
my  own  use  from  your  bank.  I  have  robbed  you 
of  between  a  quarter  and  a  half  million  of  dollars. 
I  am  a  pure  robber.  That  is  the  worst  you  can 
say  of  me.  The  worst  you  can  do  with  me  is  to 
throw  me  into  prison  for  ten  years.  By  the 
National  Currency  Act  of  1865,  section  55,  you 
will  see  that  for  this  offence  against  you  I  may  be 
incarcerated  from  five  to  ten  years — not  more  than 
ten.  If  you  imprison  me  for  ten  years,  you  do 
your  worst.  During  those  ten  years  I  shall  have 
ample  time  to  perfect  myself  in  at  least  three  lan- 
guages, and  to  read  extensively,  and  I  shall  leave 
the  jail  at  forty-five  a  polished  and  learned  man,  in 
the  prime  of  life,  and  possessed  of  enormous  wealth. 
There  will  be  no  pleasure  that  I  cannot  pur- 
chase. I  shall  become  a  good-natured  cynic  ;  I 
shall  freely  admit  that  I  have  disturbed  the  ordinary 
relations  of  labor  and  compensation,  but  I  shall  so 
treat  the  matter  that  I  shall  become  the  subject  of 
a  semi-admiration  that  will  relieve  me  from  social 
ostracism.  I  have  carefully  reviewed  the  ground. 
T  shall  go  to  jail,  pass  through  my  trial,  receive  my 


AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY.  167 

sentence,  put  on  my  prisoner's  suit,  begin  my  daily 
tasks,  and  all  with  as  much  equanimity  as  I  pos- 
sess at  present.  There  will  be  no  contrition  and 
no  shame.  Do  not  hope  to  recover  a  dollar  of  your 
money.  I  have  been  careful  to  secrete  it  so  that 
the  most  ingenious  detectives  and  the  largest  re- 
wards will  not  be  able  to  obtain  a  hint  of  its  where- 
abouts. It  is  entirely  beyond  your  reach." 

Fields  was  now  an  entire  master  of  the  situation. 
The  board  was  filled  with  consternation  ;  its  mem- 
bers conferred  together  in  frightened  whispers. 

"  But,"  pursued  Fields,  "  do  you  properly  un- 
derstand your  situation?  My  desk  is  virtually  with- 
out money.  My  assistant  at  this  instant  may  dis- 
cover that  he  has  not  sufficient  funds  to  pay  the 
check  he  has  in  his  hand.  In  a  moment  more  the 
street  may  be  in  possession  of  the  facts.  Besides 
the  present  danger,  have  you  forgotten  the  con- 
troller ?"  Nothing  more  could  now  add  to  the 
alarm  that  filled  the  room. 

"What  shall  we  do,  Fields?  We  cannot  go 
under;  we  cannot — " 

"  I  will  tell  you." 

The  room  became  silent  again.  All  leaned  for- 
ward to  listen.  Some  placed  their  hands  behind 
their  ears. 

"I  do  not  think  that  the  drafts  upon  us  to- 
day will  amount  to  eighty  thousand  dollars.  You 
might  draw  that  sum  from  the  receiving  teller,  but 
that  would  occasion  remark.  I  advise  you  to  draw 
from  your  private  accounts  elsewhere  one  hundred 


1 68  AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY. 

thousand  dollars,  and  quietly  place  it  upon  my 
counter.  I  would  do  it  without  an  instant't 
delay." 

"  But  what  guarantee  have  we  that  you  will  not 
appropriate  that  also  ?" 

"  I  give  you  my  word,"  replied  Fields,  with  a 
smile. 

"  And  to  what  end  do  you  advise  us  to  keep  the 
bank  intact  ?" 

"  That  we  may  have  time   to  arrange  terms." 

"  Terms— for  what  ?" 

14  For  a  compromise." 

"  Ah-ha !" 

Here  was  a  patch  of  blue  sky — a  glimpse  of  the 
sun.  Fields  was  not  insensible  to  moderation, 
after  all. 

"What  do  you  propose?"  eagerly  demanded 
three  voices. 

"  I  think  you  had  first  better  insure  yourselves 
against  suspension,"  was  the  reply. 

In  ten  minutes  one  of  the  directors  hurriedly 
departed,  with  five  checks  in  his  wallet.  These 
were  the  contributions  of  his  fellows.  The  presi- 
dent passed  out  to  see  how  matters  stood  at  the 
paying  teller's  desk.  No  more  drafts  had  been 
presented,  and  the  nineteen  thousand  dollars  were 
still  undisturbed.  He  returned  reassured.  He 
locked  the  door  again. 

"  Now,  sir,"  said  he  to  the  paying  teller,  "  let 
us  go  on." 

"Very  well,"  was  the  reply.     "  I  think  you  all 


AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY.  169 

perceive  by  this  time  the  true  position  of  affairs. 
I  possess  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars, 
and  your  bank  has  lost  that  sum.  I  have  detailed 
the  benefits  which  will  accrue  to  me,  and  the 
trouble  which  will  in  all  likelihood  accrue  to 
you.  It  will  be  unpleasant  for  you  to  throw  your- 
selves upon  the  mercies  of  your  stockholders. 
Stockholders  are  hard-hearted  people.  Each  one 
of  you  will,  in  case  this  matter  is  discovered,  find 
his  financial  credit  and  his  reputation  for  sagacity 
much  impaired  ;  and,  besides  this,  there  will  be 
incurred  the  dangers  of  a  '  run  '  upon  you,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  actual  loss  to  the  institution,  which 
will  have  to  be  made  good  to  the  last  dollar.  But 
let  us  see  if  we  cannot  do  better.  Notwithstand- 
ing the  fact  that  I  have  fully  made  up  my  mind  to 
go  to  prison,  I  cannot  deny  that  not  to  go  to 
prison  would  be  an  advantage.  Therefore,  if  you 
will  promise  me  immunity  from  prosecution,  I 
will  return  to  you  to-morrow  morning  a  quarter  of 
a  million  dollars.  I  ask  you  to  give  me  a  reply 
within  five  minutes.  The  proposition  is  a  bare 
one,  and  is  sufficiently  plain.  I  shall  require 
your  faith  as  directors  and  individuals,  and  in  re- 
turn I  will  give  my  pledge,  as  a  robber  of  the 
highest  grade — a  bond  which  perhaps  is  as  good 
as  any  that  can  be  made  under  the  circum- 
stances." 

The  directors  no  sooner  saw  that  it  lay  within 
their  power  to  regain  five-sevenths  of  their  money 
than  they  began,  almost  with  one  voice,  to 


170  AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY. 

threaten  Fields  with  punishment  if  he  did  not  re- 
turn the  whole. 

"  Gentlemen,"  cried  the  paying  teller,  inter- 
rupting their  exclamations,  "  I  must  impose  one 
more  condition.  It  is  that  you  do  not  mention 
this  affair  again — that  you  keep  the  whole  matter 
secret,  and  not  permit  it  to  be  known  beyond 
this  apartment  that  I  have  had  any  other  than 
the  most  agreeable  relations  with  you.  All  that 
is  imperative.  There  remain  but  two  more  min- 
utes. The  president  will  signify  to  me  your  de- 
cision." 

The  time  elapsed.  Fields  put  his  watch  into  his 
pocket. 

"Well,  sir?"  said.he. 

"  We  accept  the  terms,"  replied  the  president, 
bowing  stiffly. 

Fields  also  bowed.  A  silence  ensued.  Pres- 
ently a  director  said  to  Fields  : 

"  May  I  ask  you  what  led  you  to  this  step  ?" 

"  Sir,"  replied  the  teller,  with  severity,  "  you 
are  encroaching  upon  our  contract.  I  may  speak 
of  this  affair,  but  you  have  no  right  to." 

Then  he  turned  to  the  board  : 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  go  back  to  my  work  ?" 

There  was  a  consultation.  Then  the  president 
said  : 

"  If  you  will  be  so  kind." 
Fields  complied. 

The  business  of  the  day  went  forward  as  usu- 
al. The  teller's  counter-desk  was  supplied  with 


AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY.  171 

money,  and  no  suspicion  was  aroused  among  his 
fellows. 

As  each  director  went  out  of  the  bank,  he 
stopped  at  Fields's  window,  and  addressed  some 
set  remark  to  him  upon  business  matters  ;  and  so 
intimate  did  the  relations  between  them  seem  that 
the  clerks  concluded  that  the  lucky  man  was  about 
to  be  made  cashier,  and  they  began  to  pay  him 
more  respect. 

In  the  intervening  night  there  again  recurred  to 
the  directors  the  enormity  of  the  outrage  to  which 
they  had  been  subjected.  The  incident  of  re- 
covering so  large  a  part  of  what  they  had  origi- 
nally supposed  was  gone  had  the  effect  of  making 
them  partially  unmindful  of  the  loss  of  the  smaller 
sum  which  the  teller  finally  agreed  to  accept  in 
place  of  punishment.  But  in  the  lapse  between 
the  time  of  the  robbery  and  the  time  of  the  prom- 
ised restitution,  their  appreciation  of  their  position 
had  time  to  revive  again,  and  when  they  assem- 
bled on  the  next  morning  to  receive  the  money 
from  Fields,  they  were  anxious  and  feverish. 

Would  he  come  ?  Was  he  not  at  this  moment 
in  Canada  ?  Would  a  man  who  could  steal  one 
hundred  thousand  dollars  return  a  quarter  of  a 
million  ?  Absurd  ! 

Every  moment  one  of  them  went  to  the  door  to 
see  if  Fields  had  appeared.  The  rest  walked 
about,  with  their  hands  behind  them,  talking  to- 
gether incoherently.  The  air  was  full  of  doubts. 
The  teller  usually  came  at  a  quarter  past  nine,  but 


172  AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY. 

the  hour  arrived  without  the  man.  Intolerable 
suspense  ! 

Two  or  three  of  the  directors  made  paths  for 
themselves  amid  the  chairs,  and  anxiously  trav- 
ersed them.  Slavin  took  a  post  beside  a  window 
and  gazed  into  the  street.  Debritt,  with  his 
right  hand  in  his  bosom,  and  with  his  left  grasping 
the  upper  rail  of  a  seat,  looked  fixedly  into  the 
coals.  Stuart  sipped  at  a  goblet  of  water,  but  his 
trembling  hand  caused  him  to  spill  its  contents 
upon  the  floor.  No  one  now  ventured  to  speak 
except  in  a  whisper  ;  it  seemed  that  a  word  or  a 
loud  noise  must  disturb  the  poise  of  matters.  The 
clock  ticked,  the  blue  flames  murmured  in  the 
grate,  and  the  pellets  of  sand  thrown  up  by  the 
wind  rattled  against  the  windows. 

But  yet  there  were  no  signs  of  the  paying  teller. 

Was  it  possible  that  this  immense  sum  of  money 
was  gone  ?  Could  it  be  true  that  they  must  report 
this  terrible  thing  to  the  world  ?  Had  they  per- 
mitted themselves  to  become  the  lieutenants  to  a 
wily  scoundrel  ?  Were  they  thus  waiting  silent 
and  inactive  while  he  was  being  borne  away  at  the 
speed  of  the  wind,  out  of  their  reach  ? 

All  at  once  Fields  came  in  at  the  door. 

He  was  met  with  a  gladness  that  was  only  too 
perceptible.  Every  gentleman  emitted  a  sigh  of 
relief,  and  half  started,  as  if  to  take  the  delinquent 
by  the  hand. 

Fields  had  expected  this.  He  was  shrewd 
enough  to  act  before  the  feeling  had  evaporated. 


AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY.  173 

He  advanced  to  the  table.  The  directors  has- 
tened like  schoolboys  to  take  their  accustomed 
places.  They  bent  upon  the  teller's  face  the  most 
anxious  looks. 

"  Gentlemen,'*  said  he,  "I  believe  that  you  fully 
understand  that  I  return  this  large  sum  of  money 
to  you  at  my  own  option.  You  recognize  the  fact 
that  most  men  would  endure,  for  instance,  an  im- 
prisonment of  ten  years  rather  than  lose  the  con- 
trol of  a  quarter  of  a  million  of  dollars." 

The  directors  hastened  to  signify  "  Yes  !" 

"  But,"  continued  Fields,  taking  several  large 
envelopes  from  his  inner  pockets,  "  I  shall  be  con- 
tent with  less.  There  is  the  sum  I  mentioned." 

The  directors  fell  upon  the  packages  and  counted 
their  contents.  The  table  was  strewed  with 
money.  Fields  contemplated  the  scene  with  curi- 
osity. Presently  it  was  announced  that  the  sum 
was  complete. 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  said  Fields,  "you  have 
suffered  loss.  I  have  a  hundred  thousand  dollars 
which  I  have  forced  you  to  present  me  with.  That 
is  a  large  sum,  though  to  us  who  are  so  familiar 
with  millions  it  seems  small,  almost  insignificant  ; 
but,  in  reality,  it  has  a  greajt  importance.  You  now 
see,  my  friends,  what  a  part  of  your  money-making 
mechanism  may  achieve.  There  is  no  bank,  even 
of  third-rate  importance,  in  this  city,  whose  receiv- 
ing teller  or  paying  teller  may  not  do  exactly  as  I 
have  done.  On  any  day,  at  any  hour,  they  may 
load  themselves  with  valuables  and  go  away.  You, 


174  AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY. 

and  all  directors,  depend  servilely  upon  the  pure 
honesty  of  your  clerks.  You  can  erect  no  barrier, 
no  guard,  no  defence,  that  will  protect  you  from 
the  results  of  decayed  principle  in  them.  They 
are  deeply  involved  in  dangerous  elements.  Ease, 
luxury,  life-long  immunity  from  toil,  wait  upon 
their  resolution  to  do  ill.  This  resolution  may  be 
the  determination  of  an  instant,  or  the  result  of 
long-continued  sophistical  reasoning.  You  cannot 
detect  the  approach  to  such  a  resolve  in  your  ser- 
vant, and  he,  perhaps,  can  hardly  detect  it  in  him- 
self. But  one  day  it  is  complete  :  he  acts  upon  it. 
You  are  bereft  of  your  property  ;  he  flees,  and 
there  is  the  nine  days'  stir,  and  all  is  over.  Your 
greatest  surety  lies  in  your  appreciation  of  your 
danger.  I  have  proved  to  you  what  that  danger 
consists  of  ;  you  did  not  know  before.  Your  best 
means  of  defence  is  to  respect,  to  the  fullest  extent, 
the  people  upon  whom  you  depend.  They  are 
worthy  of  it.  An  instant's  reflection  will  show 
you  that  neither  of  you  would  be  proof  against  a 
strong  temptation.  For  the  sake  of  recovering  a 
sum  of  money  you  have  compounded  with  felony. 
All  of  you  are  at  this  moment  in  breach  of  the  law. 
Vou  have  submitted  without  a  struggle  to  the 
dominant  impulse.  The  principle  of  exact  honor 
which  you  demand  in  me  does  not  exist  in  your- 
selves. But  let  us  end  this  disagreeable  scene. 
Perhaps  I  have  demonstrated  something  that  you 
never  realized.  I  hope  you  understand.  I  now 
surrender  to  you  the  one  hundred  thousand 


AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY.  175 

dollars,  which  you  thought  I  had  stolen.  I  had  no 
intention  of  keeping  it  ;  I  only  pretended  to  take 
it  in  order  to  impress  you  with  my  ideas." 

Every  director  arose  to  his  feet  in  haste.  Fields 
placed  another  packet  upon  the  table,  and,  in  face 
of  the  astonished  board,  left  the  apartment. 

An  hour  afterward  he  was  again  summoned  to 
the  parlor.  He  advanced  to  his  old  position  at 
the  end  of  the  table.  It  was  clear  that  the  temper 
of  the  assembly  was  favorable  to  him. 

"  Mr.  Fields,"  said  the  president,  "  your  attack 
upon  us  was  singular  and  rapid,  and  I  think  it  has 
made  the  mark  that  you  intended  it  should.  Your 
mode  of  convincing  us  was,  one  might  say, 
dramatic  ;  and,  though  I  believe  you  might  have 
attained  your  object  in  another  way,  we  acknowl- 
edge that  your  letter  had  but  little  effect.  We  now 
wish  to  provide  for  you  as  you  claim,  and  as  you 
deserve.  But  we  cannot  look  upon  you  with 
quietude.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  see  you  with- 
out shuddering.  We  must  place  you  elsewhere. 
If  you  remained  here,  you  would  always  be  in 
close  proximity  to  a  quarter  of  a  million  dollars." 

"  But  you  believe  in  my  integrity  ?" 

"  Perfectly." 

"  You  understand  my  motives  ?" 

"  Fully." 

"  And  you  acknowledge  them  to  be  just  ?" 

"  Unqualifiedly  just." 

"Well?" 

"  But  you  personify  a  terrible  threat.     You  are 


176  AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY. 

an  exponent  of  a  great  danger,  and  you  could  not 
ask  us  to  live  with  one  who  showed  that  he  held  a 
sword  above  our  heads.  That  would  be  impossi- 
ble. We  therefore  offer  you  the  position  of  actuary 

in  the Life.  Mr.  Stuart  is  about  to  resign  it, 

and  at  our  request  he  has  consented  to  procure  you 
the  chair.  Your  salary  will  be  thrice  that  you  now 
receive.  Do  you  accept  ?" 

"Without  an  instant's  hesitation,"  replied 
Fields. 

He  then  shook  hands  with    each  director,   and 

they  separated  excellent  friends. 

****** 

Fields  winged  his  way  to  the  farm  in  the  coun- 
try, and  told  the  news.     That  is,  he  told  the  best 
of  it.     He  told   the  actual  news  after  hours,  when 
there  was  but  one  to  tell  it  to. 
There  was  a  shriek. 
"  Oh,  if  they  had  f 
"  Had  what— Sun  and  Moon  !" 
"  Why,  sent  you  to  prison." 
"  Well,  we  should  have  had  to  wait  ten  years, 
that's  all.     After  that,  we  should  have  been  worth, 
with  interest  added   to  the  capital,  five    hundred 
and  sixty  thousand  dollars." 

"  Sir  !  Can  you  suppose  that  I  would  ever  marry 
a  robber,  a  wretched  robber  ?" 

'  Never  !     But  it  is  different  where  one  robs  for 
the  sake  of  principle." 

"  Y— yes,  that  is   true;  I   forgot  that.     I  think 
that  principle  is  a  great  thing.     Don't  you  ?" 


AN  OPERATION  IN  MONEY.  177 

"  Exceedingly  great." 

In  the  spring  the  face-walls  and  the  lawns  and 
the  kiosks  went  forward  according  to  the  original 
design,  and  the  actuary  frequently  brought  his 
city  friends,  directors  and  all,  down  to  look  at 
them. 


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